


A Little Give and Take

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Series, Sam thinks too much, plenty of sex, this was meant to be a plot what plot? but it kind of exploded in my face, typical enough violence (given the canon)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:17:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene is the root of all his problems, and Sam's not quite sure what he really wants - besides knowing that he wants them to work <i>out</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rebelxxwaltz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelxxwaltz/gifts).



> Happy SUPPPPPPER belated birthday, **rebelxxwaltz**! ♥ ♥ ♥ I'm really sorry this story is so late, I meant it for it to be finished... ages ago, actually. It went through a lot of revision! I'm super happy with the end product and I hope you enjoy it too! I started writing this because I wanted to write some make-up sex... and then my inability to PWP briefly absolutely exploded in my face. Rebel understands me better than anyone else on this one, so I'm happy to dedicate this story to her. A **teensy** BIT of casefic + established relationship Sam/Gene + lots and lots of sex. So much OTP.
> 
> ENDDDDLESSSSS thanks to **talkingtothesky** , who put up with me for my wanting to make this the very best story it could be. The beta-work and the handholding, and everything else. <3 This story is so much more than it would have been without her. If there's any left over mistakes, you can blame them on me. ♥

'Comfy enough, Gladys?'

'Yep.'

His duties as host seen to, Gene grunts his approval and settles back in his chair. Sam's attention strays towards the television, avoids the gap between the recliner and the sofa, the neat place he's taken up in the middle of it, back straight against the worn out cushions. Watch the match, try not to think too much, only his skin's burning hot and alive with the memory of Gene's hands, touching him all over. He'd like to just vanish into the sofa, only he's never been that lucky.

It's a bit too warm in the small, stuffy room, and Sam's still a bit too sweaty. He knows it's his mind messing with the rest of him, the lounge is decently sized after all, but the walls are pushing in on him and the end result makes him feel like he's slowly being smothered. He needs to get out, he needs some fresh air, but he knows Gene's going to see it as him ducking and running.

Sam rubs at his neck, gives the less than tidy living room a quick once over. Seeing as they're shagging now, Gene's built up a lot of expectations about the way things are meant to go. It's somewhat amazing that tending to the domestics hadn't automatically been lumped in with the rest of Gene's expectations. If they had, Sam would have no other option... that definitely would have forced him to put his foot down.

Which begs the questions, why hasn't he already put his foot down? When exactly had 'come round mine tomorrow and watch the match' become code for 'come round mine tomorrow and I'm shagging your brains out and then after that we can watch the match'?

The code was a necessary development, mostly because it was safer that way. Alley ways were one thing, the one time in the back of the Cortina, but too often their should-have-been clandestine meetings happened in places where they could all too easily end up _caught_. He has a better appreciation for dark, seedy alleys, for one thing. He also no longer doubts the thickness of Lost and Found's walls, though maybe that part can be chalked up to Gene's endless good luck.

The code developed because it needed to, and now that it has, Sam knows that, rather like his choice to stay in the seventies, there's no going back. It matters the same way. He wouldn't _want_ to go back, even if he still had a choice. He did have a choice, once upon a time. He's made up his mind, and his heart along with it, and not only in relation to being with Gene.

It must make some sort of sense, in a very backwards sort of way, and Sam spares a glance sideways at the very backwards man who's torn through his life like a storm. He can be awe-inspiring, at least when he's not being a Neanderthal, though maybe that's just part of his charm. And maybe _that's_ just the result of Sam being knocked upside the head one too many times. He can't even blame the majority of that on Gene.

His and Gene's more-than-working relationship had tripped across a very definite line, developing into something that never should have been, something that was glorious from the start. Sam doesn't even know if he's the only one who feels that way, because Gene has a way of not talking about it, the way he doesn't talk about things in general. It's clear enough that Gene has no problems with the current status quo, but then again, neither did Annie when it came to letting go.

Oh bloody hell – _Annie_. She hadn't seemed too surprised when Sam had finally broken down and said what he needed to say, even if it ended up being so much more than he'd ever meant it to be. He'd been torn up by feelings he hadn't wanted to name, ones he couldn't possibly be _feeling_ – and why exactly hadn't she been surprised? Psychology degree, right – had it been that obvious?

'Only if you knew what you were looking at,' Annie had said, somewhat breezily, but if she was telling the truth, why had their kiss seemed so real? And all the ones that followed? Why had they tried dating at all? Had he wanted it that badly, had he been that blind? Was she only hoping for his happiness, ignoring her own? Is that why she suggested they take a break to give him the chance to see if he could sort things on his own?

He shouldn't feel betrayed – he doesn't feel betrayed – because really, Annie had only been doing him a favour. She hadn't given him an ultimatum, but she had given him a chance, and a _choice_.

Park? Pictures? There's always a choice.

He's never thought to question his own sexuality, but thinking that Gene Hunt could be anything but completely and thoroughly heterosexual... that's something that's been hard for him to swallow. To witness. To revel in. He grins, tilts his bottle back to his mouth, feels rather than tastes the beer going down. Gene can be magnificent when he tries, and sometimes even when he doesn't.

When he tries – mostly, it's just one more expectation, the course plotted out already and the end destination obvious. It has a tendency to happen when, and where, and _how_ Gene wants it, mostly because it's a basic requirement of this... whatever it is, they are.

That Sam would be the one face down in the covers and taking it, well, _that_ is certainly no surprise. Somehow the topic of him giving it to Gene always ends up blown off course. Or with him blowing Gene, whichever happened first.

So maybe it actually makes a whole lot of sense, but it still ended up happening without Sam really having been given the chance to anticipate the change. One day he was attempting to date Annie, the next he was noticing – maybe finally noticing – the heated looks that Gene was shooting his way, like he'd wanted Sam all along. Had they always been there? Was Gene's tendency to hit him to make him listen just some sort of strange foreplay, stretched out over the course of months? Did he like it, like it more than was healthy, let alone sane, whenever Sam fought back? In a way Sam knew it had to be a mistake in the making, and it'd be better for the both of them if they could avoid it altogether. Only he didn't want to avoid it. If it had to be a proper confrontation, then let it be what it needed to be.

Because then he was saying too much to Annie, saying goodbye, and after that, there really was no going back. And thus, Sam's better appreciation for dark, seedy alleys was born, amongst all those other little things. One thing happened, and so did the next one, and he loved it more than was reasonable.

Gene hadn't had to force him into anything. Actually, it was Sam who finally tried doing something about it. If Gene was looking at him like he wanted Sam, then Sam had some theories to test. And boy did he ever test those theories, as thoroughly as he was able.

Whatever Gene was offering, Sam had wanted all of it, which was the worst of it. The worst of it, but also the best.

Shagging. Sex with Gene Hunt. It's certainly a better outcome than bloody noses and split lips, but he doesn't quite see how it helps them in putting their differences aside, or in helping them to see eye to eye. Not to say it hasn't managed to be an entirely eye opening experience altogether. All it really gives them is something else to _not_ talk about, and a way to clear the air that is mutually beneficial. Like so many other aspects of their relationship, it's a fight that defies compromise, and though it might still start with them, it doesn't always end in fists. Either way, when it gets a bit too rough, maybe Sam just likes the pain.

If he's being completely honest with himself, it isn't like he'd tripped over a line, more like he'd been bowled over completely instead, left reeling, losing something of his sense of self. Sam's been left on shaky ground, hasn't quite recovered, though Gene's pleased with the way things are progressing. But why would Gene complain? He's not losing out on anything – no, he only gains. Shaking his head as he sighs, Sam runs a hand back through his hair. He needs to get a grip on it. He doesn't really have anything to complain about either. His sex life has certainly picked up, and these days Gene seems marginally less prone to hit him after bouncing him off the wall.

Even when they do fight, the end result can vary – Sam's far more likely to end up on his knees. His Guv certainly does know how to get what he wants, and not just when it comes to his willingness to plant false evidence on suspects in an effort to lead to a conviction.

One sigh is nothing – two would catch Gene's attention, even though he seems fully transfixed on the match, shouting when he needs to and drinking his fill. A small smile flutters across Sam's lips as he watches, _stares_ , shakes his head. He toys with the neck of his beer bottle before he takes a drink from it. Get a grip on it, Sam – on this, and everything else might just fall neatly into place.

He knows he's being unfair, because he and Gene have always gone at policing at vastly different angles, a pair of antagonists who happen to be on the same team. While he hasn't always agreed with the technique, Sam can and never will be able to deny Gene's ability to get results. Still, like some other things, there's no denying that Gene pays more attention now when it comes to the little things, is more thorough in his investigations. He's been burned once and it's a road he doesn't want to walk down again. One other thing Sam can't deny are the ways he himself has changed since first arriving in this antiquity of a decade. Maybe compromise does exist, though it's not so easy to see: Gene's changed just as much since meeting Sam.

At least, in all other aspects other than what comes to their joint sex life.

Biting at his lip, Sam turns away from Gene, ignores the set, eyes the dusty knick-knacks on the end table and the obvious spots his wife's departure left behind. It's always been job first with Gene Hunt, and isn't that what Sam's always wanted in a paramour? Someone who really understood, could focus on the job, knew that everything about being a cop meant sacrifice and more sacrifice. He'd almost had that with Maya, he'd really come so close. He could have had it with Annie, only she knew something was off. The blame is all his – he has a history of massively cocking things up when it comes to keeping his relationships going.

There's a rough edge to Gene, one he can't deny the appeal of, not to say he doesn't have his gentler moments – it's just they're few and, since they're up to Gene, very far between. Thanks to him Sam's had some of the roughest, most painful sex of his life, and the thing is he'd _wanted_ it: though they've toned it down several notches since then, Sam's sure it's the sort of thing that might and could and _should_ happen again. This isn't a pretty job, and it isn't a pretty decade. Maybe if either of them needed it like that, Gene could fuck him the same way, messy and glorious, but the issue hasn't decided to rear its psychotic head.

Gene knows how to get what he wants, Sam keeps coming back to that, but maybe that's just because Sam wants it too. He's certainly willing. The bigger picture seems skewed, and Sam doesn't know if that's Gene's fault or his own, though it could just be a little bit of both. They're both very obstinate when it's necessary, and it's necessary more often than not.

Or maybe Gene's just a bastard, and Sam lets him get away with it. Yeah, definitely his own fault. He's never had this sort of problem with any of his former girlfriends, and Gene... well, he has a way of defying explanation and expectation alike. Not like they're dating, anyhow – as if Gene would ever do something with him that even _began_ to resemble a proper date, and Sam sometimes being in the mood to prepare his meals doesn't come close to counting, because Sam is benefiting from that as well. There's just some aspects of his and Gene's relationship he'd like to be proven wrong about. Holding hands, way too much. Some accountability on Gene's half of things? That would be nice.

He's almost sure the sex only happens because it's easier shagging him than it is wasting time trying to pick up some bird, having to wine her and dine her – one less name for him to have to commit to memory, at the very least. Why put any effort into it when Sam's apparently always eager to put out. Gene's been married and he's been divorced. It's not like he's looking for some sort of replacement. It has to be a whole lot more complicated than that, not that Gene's ever shared his thoughts on the subject – he's always presented himself as a man of his times, so him being more than just okay with shagging Sam almost seems too good to be true.

Almost? No, it really _is_ too good to be true.

It isn't that Sam doesn't _like_ the sex, because he certainly enjoys his fair share of it and why does he keep coming back to _that_? Because it's important, the fact that he and Gene are shagging, even when it leaves him bruised and battered – and maybe that's what he _really_ likes, Gene's definitely good at playing it rough. But there's a problem when Sam's inclusion is a signed and sealed expectation and not just a probability... right?

'Stop thinking so bloody much.' Gene sighs, and Sam does as well. Shouldn't it be easier now? No, it still just seems like one bloody fight, with Sam left beat down and exhausted. He tilts his bottle back for another drink, swallows the beer down.

'Whatever.'

Gene grunts something, but puts his attention back on the game. Focus on the game – Sam can do that too, only it's clear he can't, because his thoughts almost immediately start wandering off and away.

He's sore, he's really going to be feeling this in the morning, the way he normally feels it in the morning. He shouldn't be in such a thoughtful mood, not when he can still feel Gene's touch all over – he's a real mess, a stray frisson of leftover pleasure running through him, making him shift about in his seat, and for a moment he's sure he's gone abstract. Only here he is again, sitting and thinking, drinking when he remembers to. He gives Gene another sideways look, can't stop himself from frowning. It's not that Gene looks immaculate, but staring at him now, Sam could hardly guess that he'd so recently had sex. The man seems to glow, there's no ignoring his appeal. How he ended up being Sam's type, Sam's sure he'll never know. Sam doesn't even think he wants to. It was hard enough trying to figure this place out when he was sure it was all inside his head, but now that it's all he's got left, is still doesn't quite make enough _sense_.

'What is it, Gladys?' Gene's not even looking at him, how does he _do_ that? The snap of his voice mostly shocks Sam from his thoughts. 'What do you want from me now?'

'Nothing,' Sam snaps back at him, presses the bottle to his mouth, gulps another swallow of it down.

Gene huffs out a laugh, shakes his head, exasperated and amused. One last look, the piercing intensity of his gaze, and then his attention has switched back onto the telly. His own beer bottle is clasped in his right hand, the blue-grey of his slacks darkening beneath the circle of condensation. They wouldn't even be drinking the stuff cold, only it's too bloody hot for anything else...

Sam bites back a moan, dizzy with memory. It hadn't been too hot for Gene to throw him against the wall, for them to grapple at each other like they were a pair of men drowning, to hold on and take each other down. It was somewhat amazing that they'd even made it upstairs, that they stripped down completely before the main event began, that Gene even reached for the lube before driving right into him and splitting him apart. There'd been a hesitance that could have, almost _was_ gentle, a soft edge to all of Gene's roughness. The hesitation passed, and there Gene was, claiming him anew. He must love hearing Sam moan, watching him squirm, and that's not just an educated guess on Sam's part. Gene has no problem telling him just how badly he must be gagging for it, as he goes about getting Sam ready, thoroughly and with great pleasures, as he then goes about reaming Sam into next week. It gets really dirty sometimes, real filth spewing from Gene's mouth, though that's an exception rather than a rule.

It was almost different today. It was a different that Sam could get used to.

His face is burning now, the heat is dripping down his neck, or is that just an absent bead of sweat? He groans, wipes at his brow with the back of one hand, takes another drink with the other. Watch the telly, the match, that's why you're here. He's not doing a very good job of that though, is he? His hand is trembling, so Sam tightens his grip about the neck of the bottle, knowing he needs to get a _grip_.

Maybe he'd enjoy the game better if he didn't already know how it was going to end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex in this section might come off as dub-connish? Warning for if you're extra sensitive, cause I know we all have our limits.

Gene might not like to talk about the 'girly' aspects of their relationship – if he even thought of it was a relationship – but with Sam's decision to keep a lid on it and keep his various concerns to himself, Gene was bound to notice.

Partially, he kept it to himself because he didn't know what Gene would say, or what he'd think, or if anything good would come of it at all. Mostly, though, if Gene _were_ to say something, Sam hadn't expected him to even care. Gene's a whole lot of things, sometimes the centre of Sam's world, sometimes the bane of his existence. That's what he gets for dating his boss. But a boyfriend... no, it's nothing like that. Maybe he should have fought harder in order to keep Annie in the first place, because at least she was marginally easier to figure out. So why didn't he?

That's easy enough to answer. His feelings for Annie are complicated enough, but she knew he wasn't as happy as he kept on insisting he was, and each time she countered that argument it chipped away at his resolve.

Still, Gene's _Gene_ , and he's a bloody observant bastard when he needs to be. Perhaps his methods are a constant cause for argument and concern – and something that might lead Sam to drinking himself into an early grave – but he does actually know how to do his job.

Those moments of observation always seem to happen when Sam wishes he'd pay attention to something else instead, perhaps whatever new set of 'tits in a jumper' had most recently passed them by. It happened often enough, even given their arrangement, and it bothers Sam in a way that's nearly jealously, because Gene's happy enough just looking, what if one day he wanted to _touch_? Gene's definitely a tits man, after all, and only where Sam was involved was he a scrawny arsed git sort of man. No such luck here, seeing as they're at a crime scene, but beggars can't be choosers.

But they have a job to do, and Sam has more important things to think about. That's what's led them back to their murder victim's house. Sam moves around the room slowly, carefully, checking over the notes that had been taken on the original visit.

'Oi, Tyler – a moment of your precious time, if you'd be so bloody kind.'

Sam keeps his gaze averted, he's trying to work. 'What can I do for you, Guv?'

'You can tell me what your problem is, for starters.'

Sam shrugs. 'The window... the window was broken from the inside. Someone wanted us to think that there'd been a break in, but I'm starting to feel it was all just a cover-up. We should probably talk to Rogers again... I suspect he knows more about his wife's murder than he's letting on.' He huffs out a sigh, shakes his head. 'I really don't know how they missed something like that in the first place.'

'Well, we're not all nitpicky pains the way you are,' Gene replies, tone mostly sharp, with just enough hesitation to show his disgust. 'And speaking of your being a pain, you're being one right now.'

Sam sighs in return, and he's not even faking it – he's honestly confused. 'What exactly do you mean?'

Gene growls in annoyance, of course it would be obvious to _him_. When Sam gives in and glances at him, he sees the accompanying frown, how his eyes are narrowed into a glare, and what a magnificent portrait it paints, him leaning against the bare space beside the mantle. Sam shrugs, as though he's expected to know what Gene is actually up to, and Gene rolls his eyes and gives a disgusted sounding sigh.

'Right, not talking about work here, Gladys, as you should bloody well know. You've had this little frown on your face, you're thinking too much – been like that all week, now you've gone and forced me to mention it.' He pushes away from the wall and Sam bites hard at the inside of his cheek to keep himself from flinching. Gene's baiting him, but Sam doesn't plan on falling for it.

Well, he's really hoping he won't.

So, in what he thinks is a perfectly reasonable tone, he replies: 'Don't I always think too much?'

His Guv gives a small shrug, but he's not given up. His eyes are locked on Sam's, the intense green of his glare dizzyingly bright. It's almost too much for Sam to take, but looking away would admit some sort of defeat. Isn't that just how it always is? Like he's been losing this fight from the very start. Losing isn't necessarily a bad thing, but sometimes he needs to keep his dignity in mind.

'Just seems like it's a bit more than your usual, is all.'

Sam rolls his eyes, gives a little shake of his head. He flashes a grin at his superior officer, even goes so far as to wink. Gene's getting to him, and Sam doesn't need that, not right now. There's already been too much of it lately, there's simply no working his way around it. He doesn't even think Gene has to try. He gets to Sam, and it happens so naturally.

'Nothing's wrong, Guv – not upset, or anything like that. We need to talk to Timothy Rogers, re-verify his alibi... what he have here might just be a bit of domestic violence gone terribly wrong.'

'Right, and he made sure to steal her jewellery while he was busy strangling her.' Gene's tone hints at one of two things: that he believes him, and Sam couldn't ask for more. But, more likely, it's sarcasm that spurs him on instead. And really, it's not like Gene would care to suss it all out, even if Sam did open his mouth and voice his concerns.

Sam looks about the room, the broken window, the absence of any shards of glass scattered about on the plush carpeting. It doesn't actually surprise him that the plod who were originally on scene hadn't put two and two together. This lot doesn't always play at their sharpest, though it does seem to happen less and less these days. Maybe by continuing to be a positive influence, things can only get better – maybe he really was meant to come back.

Sam shrugs in reply, takes a look at the door from living room to front hall. That's where Alice Rogers' body had been found by her distraught husband. He'd been a very good actor, played his role to perfection. Perhaps he hadn't meant to take it that far.

Really, Sam, already convicting the man? Why is it he heard that thought in Gene's voice, succinct and damning him in one go?

'Well, he wanted to make it look like a robbery gone askew – hadn't expected the wife to be home, so she ended up getting in the way, you know, that sort of thing. Anyhow, that's just what he'd want us to think.'

Gene sighs. 'Bloody certain the man has trouble putting on his own shoes, Sam.'

Of course Gene would think that, Sam had thought it too. Timothy Rogers is a timid man, wide spectacles and no lack of nervous fidgeting. He's no body-builder, and while he is tall – just as tall as Gene – his frame is lean, his fingers long and thin. Sam doesn't know why he's so intent on damning the man.

Gene continues. 'I mean, he's an accountant, for Christ's sake.'

Sam turns away from Gene, stares at the pictures on the wall, the ones lined up across the mantle. For all he can see, they were a very happily married couple – Rogers' gaze in those photographs, whenever it's focused on his wife, is full of adoration.

Adoration can fade, die a slow death. End up doing more harm than it ever did good.

He shakes his head, crosses his arms over his chest, tucks his hands into the crooks of his elbows. 'Violence... anger changes a person, Gene. We have no bloody clue what Rogers is like when he's angry.' He could say something about themselves, but the situations are as vastly different as night and day, a bloody stark contrast of light and dark. They've built their everything on anger, after all.

Gene huffs on a laugh. 'Go talk to him alone for five minutes, I'm sure we'll be able to find out. Make certain you let him know you're implicating him in his own wife's murder, that should work a right treat.'

Scowling, Sam's head whips about. Gene's glaring back at him, his arms folded over his chest, and for all they stare and stare, neither of them are willing to give in – it would be so easy to give in.

Sam glares, and glares some more, grinds his jaw in frustration because he knows something has to give, before throwing his arms wide. 'You know what – sure! Whatever. I will go talk to him. And I'll tell him he's our lead suspect now. What do you think of that?'

Gene makes a grab for his arm, yanks Sam towards him – it happens so quickly, Sam doesn't have time to react. 'I didn't mean a word of that, it's bloody nonsense, Sam! We've a solid lead already, plus bountiful amounts of that bloody evidence you love to go on about, and you should know by now when I'm – ' His hand's locked tight about Sam's upper arm, his grip, like so many aspects of its owner, unforgiving. The 'solid lead' is a mate of the husband's who has previous for battery, as well as some petty thievery back when he'd been a teen. There's the evidence as well, it all points away from Rogers, but Sam's too blinded by _Gene_ to want to admit that. All in all, it's almost too neat. Maybe Sam's admitted defeat already, but it doesn't stop him from glaring some more.

'What? When you're talking out your arse? Suppose I should, since you do it all the sodding time!' He's really asking for it now, but the fight's been building and he's only too happy to follow through to the inevitable. Gene's gaze narrows once more, even more dangerous, and he jerks Sam that much closer, with Sam dragging his heels across the thickly carpeted floor.

'Take that back, you little prick!' Gene's breath hits him in the face, whisky and smoke and remnants of what he'd eaten at the canteen, and all Sam can do is grin in the face of that danger, how the hot _realness_ of it makes him feel alive. Pain – oh, he definitely must have a liking for the pain, something that Gene has helped encourage with his tendency to fall back on his fists, because Sam's asking for it now. He's treading a very fine line, and the thrill of it is a risk he's willing to take, a surge of giddiness that rushes right through him.

'What, are we five now, Guv? Are you going to start pulling on my pigtails... wait, no, then someone might think you liked me or something. We certainly wouldn't want _that_ – '

It happens rather neatly, and all very quickly. He's shoved back, stumbling to catch himself, and he hears the loud crack as Gene's fist makes contact with his jaw. His Guv's never hit him so hard – so fast – that he's knocked him out in one go, but as darkness quickly washes over him, drags him out to sea, and dumps him down onto Timothy Roger's nice carpeting, there's a first thing for everything, right?

–

'Hey.'

Sam groans, puts a hand to his forehead, touches the wet flannel that's draped across his brow. Dark dream-scape recedes, leaves him in reality that's only somewhat better lit: he'd been running down a shadowed hallway, someone chasing after him, _gaining_ on him, but now he's flat on his back. His head hurts, but whatever happened, he probably had it coming to him. Doesn't he always?

He blinks his eyes, frowns at the ceiling. The panic's running in his blood, he needs to get a hold of himself. 'What hit me?'

'Must have felt like a lorry,' Annie says, smiles at him, shifts the flannel out of the way. 'But don't worry, it was just the Guv.' She's stooped beside the sofa, expression softened with concern, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sam groans again, closes his eyes. The lights were playing havoc on him, or maybe that's just the lingering effects of having been hit so very hard. Either way, the room pitches about him, though he's not even done any moving, a moment in the dark. Stay still, he tells himself, try not to think. As if that ever works.

'Don't worry? Pretty sure that's the reason I _should_ keep worrying.'

He's piecing it back together, Gene punching him like he meant to break his face in two. The panic runs out of him, but all it leaves him feeling is empty, cold.

Gene couldn't have been that pissed with him, not if he'd made certain Sam had got back to the station – he thinks on it a moment longer than he should have, considers Gene having carried him from Rogers' home, would he have taken care as he dumped Sam's body in the back seat? It's telling, because it's not like Gene had simply hit him and then left him behind – if he had then that would have changed the situation completely, the chaos playing havoc inside Sam's head. No, he'd taken Sam out of there, not just to the station, but to the little sofa in the crew room.

Annie sighs softly, shakes her head. She probably has work to do, but here she is, fussing over Sam instead. Isn't she tired of all this yet? Sam certainly is.

'Sure, he got you good, but... well, d'you ever think that maybe if you just... took it easier, he'd hit you less?'

Does he think that? Yeah, he does. His jaw still feels like it's been hit with a cricket bat, and the general sense of disillusionment that's been tagging along after him since he first woke up in this era is really starting to flare up, more real than anything else. It didn't simply stop existing, not after he made his jump. It's only grown more intense. It's a fire that risks to burn right through him, hollow him out. He needs to keep a grip. He doesn't matter, not to Gene – he's been punching him around from the start, and it's all Sam's fault. That's never going to stop.

'All the time, actually.'

He sits up, and Annie sits back. She regards him critically, but not unkindly. 'Doesn't seem to stop you.'

No, it doesn't. He doesn't like backing down, he never has. Even when policing meant more talking and less hitting, he wanted to be the one who came out ahead. It was its own sort of ruthlessness, the progression of his career, that constant climb that would eventually take him to the top. He paid attention to what he thought was important, and he let everything else fall to the wayside. He paid attention to his team and he worked with their strengths. Maybe he wasn't the most natural born leader in the world, but he was personable and, bloody hell, he made it _work_. Looking back on it, Sam's amazed he was able to cling to the few close relationships he did, because he had been desperately clinging. Work couldn't have been better, but the rest of his life had been falling apart, unravelling a little bit more each day that went by.

Sam shakes his head, regrets it right away. 'I'm a sucker for it, I guess.'

He really is, and Annie doesn't know just how much he means it – though, given their shared history, she might have a clue. It's a simple, stirring truth, and when he first chose to return here, he had hoped things would change, that it wouldn't continue on in this manner. No, he and Annie had shared a good first kiss, had dated some, and while he'd thought their relationship could have proceeded from that, there was Annie, deciding it was time to make an exit, because there was Gene, getting in the way.

Getting in the way, because that was what Annie allowed. Getting in the way, because it was what Sam thought he wanted. Annie had warned him, told him it wouldn't be easy, if it worked out at all – it was perilous territory he was walking into, even she could see that. Now, maybe at the end of all things, at least she's got the decency to not tell him 'I told you so'.

Between the both of them, they'd made all the important moves. Sam would be lying through his teeth if he said he hadn't liked Gene's sudden attention – he'd liked it a lot. It was a risk for the both of them, and aspects of it were downright unhealthy, the sneaking around, everything they had to _hide_.

He still does like it. Because any attention is good attention, right?

...right?

He's being selective about what he sees and what he needs to ignore. One step forward, a dozen backwards, double that whenever Gene decides to knock him onto his arse. It isn't that simple, it never is. Sam doesn't just take it, he fights back whenever Gene's being an arse. And since Gene's normally an arse, that means they fight a whole lot. They yell at each other, each of them thinking they're the one who's right. It honestly doesn't end up resorting to fists as much as it used to, and Sam knows that's a step in the right direction. It's just the start.

Annie notices his silence, frowns. She puts her hand on his arm, and Sam turns to look at her, does his best to make himself smile. The frown sticks around, he just can't get rid of it completely, Annie seeing through his put on act.

'Sam...'

He forces a bit more cheer into it, even huffs out a small laugh. 'I'm okay.'

She rolls her eyes, doesn't believe him at all. 'Sure you are.'

'Annie – ' He's making a mistake, or he's about to make the biggest one of his life. He's made a fair few in the thirty-seven he's been alive, he knows the warning signs – the alarms are going off in his head, he still has time to stop. Who knew that one punch would leave him in a state of such clarity? That, and so much more confused.

'I'm not humouring you, Sam – I mean it.'

'I... can't let this go. If I don't, I...'

What? Her words echo his thoughts. 'What?' She's still looking at him, her gaze lacking some of the intensity of Gene's, though none of the directness. He started something he never should have allowed, and it leaves him feeling like he's compromised himself completely, and all because he really liked the sex.

'This has to be properly investigated.' He gives a little shrug, just as faintly shakes his head. Annie gives him a funny little look.

'Properly investigated? You're starting to sound like Morgan again.'

Sam flinches, just like he'd been hit. 'I... well, believe me, it wasn't intentional. Still...' He shakes his head. 'What's going on... I don't think you'd get it.'

'Well, that's good to know.' Annie's gaze doesn't break off, if anything it's only more intense now. She reaches out again, gives his arm a squeeze. It doesn't bind him the way Gene's grip might have, but it's a similar enough vice. 'Try me – who says I won't get it?'

He'd like to tell her, and maybe he's wrong, she might get it. She's one of the smartest people on the team, definitely the best educated of the lot, and with her psychology background maybe she'd understand it more than even he thinks he does. She's surprised him already. It still seems to be a risk he doesn't think he's ready to take, something he hopes to avoid completely. His mouth shifts about and he ends up giving a tight little grin.

'I don't see the point, Annie... bit beyond me too.'

She sighs loudly and pats his arm, stands up. 'Well, if you figure it out I'm here for you. You know that, right?'

He nods, picks himself up off the sofa, dusts his arms off. 'Thanks, Annie.'

–

He gets back to work, hopes he'll be left alone. It's essential that Sam speaks to Rogers, and if he's lucky Gene hasn't got to him first. His luck never does hold up as well as he'd like, and he feels Gene's presence long before his Guv ever opens his mouth. Sam, sitting stooped over at his desk, had been focused on the notes that he'd taken, the details of the ongoing investigation spread around him. He's had enough of today already, between Gene and everything else, the snide comments Ray shot his way after seeing Sam's bruised jaw. If only Gene could leave well enough alone, just this once.

'Oi.'

Right – Gene's the lucky one, after all.

Sam doesn't look up, frowns as he plucks out the picture of Alice Rogers that had been paper clipped to one page, the pale blankness of her face, the straggles of her black hair, the stark bruising around her throat. Strangled to death – and perhaps by her own husband. 'Don't want to talk.'

'Not asking.' When Sam continues to look up, doesn't budge to his Guv's whims, Gene grabs his arm and jerks him upwards. The chair skitters backwards, Sam swinging about and slamming his palm into Gene's chest. Someone clears their throat, Ray covers ( _badly_ ) his laugh with a very fake sounding cough. If it comes to a punch-up in front of the rest of their team, so be it – maybe Sam's just asking for it, but he's not backing down.

Sam lifts his chin up, glaring at Gene, pulled up close to him, bodies touching in too many places. Sam breathes out, knows he needs to stick to it. 'Don't care.'

Gene's nostrils flare, and Sam jerks back against his hold. 'You never do learn.'

'Shouldn't that be obvious by now?” Putting up enough of a struggle means he's able to slip free, making a grab for the scattered files on his desk, piling them into one untidy stack as he snags his jacket up as well. He has what he needs and he's going to go have that talk with Rogers now, and he doesn't care what Gene thinks.

He should have known that Gene wouldn't just let him walk away, still tailing him as he makes a dash for the door. 'You do _not_ turn your back on me, Marjorie,' Gene growls, and there he is, right at Sam's back, and just as fast as a flash. He grabs onto Sam's shirt, jerks him backwards, holds on tight.

Sam knows they're the focus of the entire room, not that anyone dares to make a sound. Other than Sam. It's always Sam. He's the only one of them that has any reason, who isn't thoroughly blinded by the _Guv_.

'Or what?'

Gene's breath blows out, equally low, just as dangerous. 'Or else.'

'You know... I'm still not scared of you, Hunt. I'm not.'

Gene huffs out a laugh, grabs for his arm instead, drags him across the office towards the far door. Chris is hiding his face behind a piece of paper, and the look Annie's giving him is demanding one thing: _why, Sam, why?_. But she doesn't speak up, no one does. After all this time, he's still alone. He's also the one who's at fault, as far as they're (mostly) concerned: Gene doesn't need to learn to curb his violent tendencies, Sam just needs to learn how to shut up and take it.

'Still holding onto that? And you're supposed to be the clever one.' Gene kicks the door open, pulls Sam on through, leaves Sam trying to balance his jacket and the folders. Sam looks at Annie one last time, only to see she's looked away. Fair enough, that – the tension's been building, and now it's going to burst. The scene at the Rogers' house, that had been an appetiser. This is the main course.

At least Gene's taking him to the side before he beats him bloody. Wouldn't want that sort of thing happening with everyone acting like it wasn't going on. Sound kickings are, after all, bad for team morale – at least when they're all able to see. It doesn't matter otherwise – Gene doesn't care what Sam thinks, and he never listens to what Sam says.

Gene opens the door to Lost and Found, gives him a hard shove forwards, sends Sam stumbling inside. He somehow manages to keep hold on his files as well as the jacket, turns about sharply, the sound of the door slamming shut a foreboding sort of finality. Gene's come right at him, and Sam takes a faltering step backwards.

'I... I'm not scared... not afraid. You can't intimidate me.' Scared? Maybe a bit, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. Intimidated? There's a bit of that as well, and he doesn't think he'd have noticed it if there wasn't already this added layer to their relationship, the resolution of so much violence and tension via sex. He's hot already, and he doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Whatever it ends up being, it's going to be messy.

'Always seemed to do the trick.' Gene gives him one more hard shove, back against the shelving, keeps moving closer, stalking him like a predator, and Sam the very obvious prey. He's so close now Sam's senses are flooded with him, the overwhelming intensity of it leaving him rather light-headed.

'Clumsy bastard,' Gene mutters, the scattered items Sam had tried keeping hold of falling to the floor, fluttering out of his control. Sam blows out a stuttering breath, tries to keep his cool. Gene sneers, but there's a softness to the edge of it, and Sam's not sure what he's seeing. That's just how it is with him and Gene, and he's left him living in a constant state of confusion. No up, no down, only a strange middle ground where Gene's the one who always comes out on top. It's not that Sam's not fighting it. He's always fighting, he's fighting it with everything he's got.

'Don't see why you – '

Sam shakes his head. 'It's over.' Sam has to double-take, hardly believes the words he's just spoken: but there they are, hanging between them, Gene's eyes going wide as he adds it all up, lets it sink in. He blinks, shakes his head faintly, his jaw trembling before he opens his mouth, saying just one thing.

'…what?'

Sam's still shaking his head, can't seem to stop himself now that he's started. 'It's over. Us. Whatever _we_ were. It's not working out, and I – look, this all happened by accident, right? Cause _we'd_ had an accident? I thought I knew what I wanted, but obviously that was just head trauma that never healed. I mean, it's not like any of it's even mattered.' It really had been more complicated than that, and they both know it – Gene, though, doesn't see it necessary to remind him.

With a low growl, Gene makes a lunge for him, grabs him by the lapels and slams him into the wall of the shelving, biting pain driving into his shoulders, a hot tongue of it licking up along his spine. Gene's knuckles graze over Sam's bare skin, hot again, burning him in their way, and Sam's mind stutters, then simply goes blank. He's never been any good at thinking while Gene is kissing him, so there's no big surprise when he's left feeling like he's about to implode. Gene's taking the attention off the real issue here, and doing so by thoroughly ravishing Sam's mouth.

It's not going to work this time. Sam can't let it.

Sam needs to push Gene away, stop this before it starts again, only he's getting into the kissing and there's a fight going on, their tongues being the main combatants. Sam reaches out to grab onto Gene's shirt, needs that to steady himself, Gene's groan sending a dizzying wash of warmth straight through him, the accompanying vibration.

Maybe he hadn't meant it, not if he's ready to give up like this. It's one more thing he doesn't want to back out of. It's one more thing that makes him see, another burst of aching clarity, just how much he wants this thing that is _them_ to work out, and more than that, to _count_. He's being such a girl. He slams his palm into Gene's shoulder, still hoping to dislodge him. This time, it works.

'Stop,' he hisses, yanking away. 'We can't do this. I'm not letting you.'

He pushes at Gene, and Gene pushes back, knocking him into the shelving once more. Sam winces, throws a punch – one Gene catches, grimacing as his grip tightens, Sam's knees threatening to buckle as Gene suddenly twists him about. He gets shoved forward again, right into the shelving, Gene's breath hot on his neck, Gene's weight against his arm.

'You so sure of that, Sammy-boy? Is that what you really want?'

Sam can't answer him. Not when Gene's free hand is running all over him, seemingly everywhere and all at once, tugging at his shirt and slipping up under it, rubbing against taut skin. He keeps Sam's arm pinned between their bodies, his other hand running across the back of Sam's neck, down his side. Sam's trembling, wanting to fight it, wanting _it_ , torn between both desires. This isn't _fair_.

He groans as Gene growls, one hand rubbing at his crotch, Gene's erection pressed into his backside. 'Tell me what you want, Sam,' his DCI husks, and Sam bends his forehead against the shelving, ice cold beneath the heat of this assault.

'I don't... I don't... _Stop_.'

And Gene, for once, does. Sam's trembling as he clings to the shelving, and as Gene eases away from him, at least he can think. He closes his eyes, breathes in and out, very carefully. When he thinks he's ready – as ready as he can be – he pushes against the shelving, turns around carefully. Gene's standing there, staring at him, and while his breathing is under control, his cheeks have gone pink.

'You mean that, then?'

'I...'

'Tell me what you want.'

Sam shakes his head. He's leaning back into the shelving, or else he might fall down. 'I don't know.'

Gene groans in frustration. 'So you tell me to stop, but you can't tell me _why_.'

'It isn't that simple!'

'Nothing you say, or do, has _ever_ been simple! You've complicated my life from day one!'

Sam's the one who groans in frustration this time. He's also the one who throws himself forward, slamming into Gene. Gene's caught off guard and they crash to the ground. Sam grabs a hold of him, but Gene grabs back, and they wrestle on the floor until Gene's the one who's pinning him down. His hair's a mess now, his cheeks are really burning, and he doesn't just look angry, he also looks confused. It can't be a good combination, the way Sam looks at it. He's been there himself, and recently, too, so he knows just how it feels.

'Tell me what you _want_.'

'Does it even matter?'

That seems to hit Gene like a punch. He settles back, sat on Sam's legs. Sam could try and get away, but he doesn't see the point. Gene's too heavy, for one thing, and he's got better leverage, from this angle.

Gene runs a hand back through his hair. 'Of course it matters. Why wouldn't it?'

Sam drapes his forearm across his eyes. 'I don't know!'

Gene growls, grabs both of Sam's wrists, struggling some as he pins them to the floor. When it's over, Sam's well and truly caught, and Gene's breathing hard again. 'You're not making any sense!'

'That's what you always say!'

Gene laughs, which comes as a surprise. His hair drapes around his face as he lowers his head, and he's still laughing. 'Suppose it is,' he says, at the end of it – when he releases Sam's wrists and sits back, wiping a hand across his forehead.

'What if I like it this way? What if I don't want it to be over?'

'There's no meeting in the middle here, Guv – not that I think you even know how that works. If I say it's over, it's what I want, which means...' His words trail off. He doesn't know what else to say.

'So you meant it, then? You really want it to be over.'

'If I say I don't know, will you laugh at me again?'

Gene smirks, but he's tired, somehow. 'Might just. Come on. Yelling at you gets me randy, and by no fault of my own.' He rolls off of Sam, pushes himself up on one knee, grabs the shelving and pulls himself the rest of the way up. Sam doesn't move, but he watches Gene looming above him. Gene's arm shoots down, his hand extended. Sam pushes up on one arm, grabs Gene's hand, and Sam ends up hoisted to his feet. 'That's part of the issue though, isn't it?'

'Is this you trying to be subtle?' Sam edges back, feeling wary, feeling confused. 'You're right.'

For a moment, Gene looks defeated. He doesn't let it get to him, shrugs and carries on. 'I am what I am, Sam – can't say you've ever complained about it before.'

'You really have a selective memory, don't you?'

'What exactly is that supposed to mean?!'

'I complain about it all the bloody time!'

'You're being a bastard about Rogers!'

'You're being a bastard in general!'

'Do you want me to apologise about the case? Because I'm not going to!'

'You, apologising for _anything_? That would be bloody novel!'

Gene growls, throws himself at Sam, and Sam ends up knocked back into the shelving, his shoulders taking the brunt of it. He cries out but then Gene's mouth crashes down on his, and Sam knows exactly what's happening. Gene's kissing him instead of hitting him, and Sam grabs a hold of Gene and kisses back with everything he's got. They'd been shouting, anyone could have heard them – if not for Lost and Found's very thick walls. He's only thinking about that now, as Gene's tongue shoves its way into his mouth.

It's hard to think, beyond that. He staggers beneath that renewed assault, but he's giving back now instead of just taking it, even as his lungs ache, begin to burn. Sam's going light-headed and struggles to remember something – something important – oh, that's it, if he breathes in through his nose then he won't end up passing out. Gene's fingers are digging into his arms, and Sam's holding on for dear life, and just when he's sure it'll never end, Sam jerks away from the kiss, loudly gasping for breath.

'Guv, I – '

Gene's breathing even harder. 'It's over then, yeah?'

Sam shakes his head, sagging into the shelving, taking Gene with him. 'I don't know.' He's still not thinking straight, he's definitely not seeing straight. There's two Genes shifting before him, both of them holding onto him tightly. '...I don't want it to be over.'

Gene's got hold of him with only the one hand now. The other, he's lifted to Sam's face, running his thumb down along Sam's jaw. Sam closes his eyes, and his heart's not running out of control now. He's almost definitely managed to catch his breath.

He can think now, finally. He knows Gene's edges are dangerous, rough, but he's not going to take something that Sam's not willing to give. For the most part, Gene's really good at listening to him when it comes to that – at least when it comes to _this_ – because he's done his best to drive into Gene's head about the importance of informed consent. If Sam doesn't want it, then Gene's not going to take it. Of course, he's still touching him, but it's not too much – it's not an assault now, and at least Sam's got room to breathe.

He's faced harder decisions in his life, and this one leaves him more frightened than all of the others combined. If he told Gene it was over, told him and really meant it, would Gene just let him go? Gene's grip on Sam's arm says otherwise, but the fingers that are pressed to Sam's cheek say so much more.

'I thought I'd figured it out. Made up my mind. It's never that easy, not when it comes to you.'

'So says _you_.'

Gene leans forward, presses his forehead to Sam's. Sam blinks, as if the tenderness is confusing, and it's left him falling, falling straight through himself. 'You really don't think it's working out?' He brushes one hand up along Sam's jaw, his touch so incredibly light Sam shivers at the faint contact. He favours the bruise he'd left there, earlier that day, though he'd avoided it before.

'Got you good, didn't I?'

'I... yeah.' He stares into Gene's face, studies his reaction – the slight twitch of a frown, how the hand on Sam's arm is now at the back of Sam's neck, pulling him that much closer. The heat of his knuckles, pressing into Sam's skin, the thump-thump of Sam's heart as it races out of control. He doesn't know which of Gene's questions he's just answered. It might not even matter.

Nothing might, not as he leans forward, lips parted. 'Why not?' Gene presses his mouth the rest of way in, lip to lip now, though he doesn't push it immediately into a kiss. He nuzzles Sam's lips instead, running that hand up into his hair. He's careful, endlessly so, before he finally pushes his way in. Sam's brain manages to keep up – oh, that question, then. The room tilts about him, and now Sam's holding onto Gene to keep himself from tipping right over with the rest of reality. When it stops, he's shaking, can't seem to make it stop. 'Am I doing something wrong? What more do I need to give you, Sam?'

He's falling for it, seeing that he really hadn't made up his mind, saying something in the heat of the moment – it's not like he can back it up. Sam doesn't want to. It's wrong, but it's always been wrong, but somehow that just means that it's right. 'Anything – everything.' He bites at his lip, makes eye contact. 'Or you could kiss me again – why don't we start with that?'

Gene doesn't care what he thinks, nor does he listen to what Sam says. This time, though, Sam's proven wrong. Gene tilts his head up, mouth to mouth, the slow slip of his tongue. Gene groans, and Sam does too, Sam pushing back against him, looping an arm about Gene's waist. Sam's hot and cold, burning and freezing, and all because of Gene.

Push away, make a stand, or know this is how it is, forever. He isn't being fair. Gene can listen to him, sometimes. Maybe this can work out. If they could just both _try_...

'Shit – you don't make it easy on a bloke, do you?'

Sam shakes his head. Maybe he doesn't – is Gene really only getting that _now_? Might just be that he thinks they both deserve better than what they've got, and that Gene needs to realise that there's more to being a couple than just a basic and very instinctual give and take, something that his testosterone-driven dominance has by the figurative but also very literal balls.

So, because he doesn't know what else to do, Sam shrugs. 'Guess not. Never had a boyfriend before.'

Gene doesn't comment on the term he's chosen to use, but Sam sees the subtle shift in his body language, so subtle in fact that he can't tell if it's a good reaction or not. The wheels have started turning in his Guv's head. 'That so? Girly bloke like you?'

'It wasn't just _your_ first time.'

Gene laughs, a soft huff of it. 'I remember. I remember you flirting at me like you wanted me to shag you right there on the dance floor.'

'The alley way was a much better choice though, don't you think?'

He's seen Gene gentle before, he knows he's capable of it. And really, he doesn't mind it rough – no, he rather does like it, most of the time. Sam stares upwards as Gene kisses at his neck, smooths his hands down Sam's chest before reaching back up to pluck at his buttons – he's everywhere, and all at once. Sam sucks his breath in and closes his eyes, feels each button sliding free, the cool push of air against his bare skin.

'Didn't wear a vest today, eh?'

Sam shakes his head, eyes still shut. 'Too bloody hot.'

He isn't focusing on the right detail. Gene never does. 'We're doing this, yeah?'

'Is that what you want?'

'Told you,' Gene snaps, tugging on a button. 'Yelling at you makes me randy. But all this... talking it out...' He shrugs, like he isn't quite sure where he's going with this. 'It's different, okay?'

'Fair enough,' he says, perhaps again. It makes sense. Maybe the first time was a blurry, painful mess and they were both asking for it, but the start doesn't necessitate the end: Sam at least isn't just in it for the sex. Maybe, just maybe, neither is Gene. 'You really want to do this here?'

'It's either I shag you or you walk back out with a bloody nose. Gotta be a reason for me keeping you in here so long, yeah?'

That does make its own twisted sort of logic. The team has certain expectations, when they're paying attention to what's going on, that is – and it seems fitting that Gene would be the one to point it out. If Gene's really that dead-set on making this look convincing, he might want to bloody Sam's nose just to be safe, but Sam's not going to be the one to suggest it. His lips quirk into a grin. 'Right – paragon of reason, you are.'

'Could just leave you to it, if that's what you want.' Gene, again, backs off. He's not touching Sam at all. And Sam has to use the shelving, yet again, to keep himself standing. 'I've never said I was perfect. You knew what you were getting into when it started.'

'I know.'

'Why the sudden problem?'

'Don't you think we deserve a little more?'

Gene looks thoughtful, and still a bit lost. 'What do you mean? Hope you don't mean for me to get down on a knee, offer you a ring.'

'Happened already, didn't it? Not that it was your ring to give.'

Gene's expression goes blank. Sam sighs. 'You remember... oh, never mind.' Bringing up June's shooting (and her eventual recovery), that would take them back to a dark time in their partnership, and they don't need that. But even then, Sam had already needed Gene – he knows he still does. He sighs again, and one of Gene's eyebrows goes up in question.

'What are you going on about, then?'

'Look, just...' Sam shakes his head. 'You, getting down on your knees for me, the thought has honestly never crossed my mind – I'm telling you the truth, don't look at me like that! I just... look.' He holds his hands up, fingers spread wide, a gesture of peace... he thinks. 'Maybe I said it was over but I just wanted to get your attention. I needed to make you listen.'

'I'm listening,' Gene grumbles, reaching up to take Sam's hands in his own, squeezing them both. 'Tell me what you need to.'

'Once I figure it out, I'm sure I'll let you know.' He thinks he has an inkling, but he doesn't know if Gene would appreciate it. He certainly doesn't know if Gene would understand.

Gene's eyes have gone steely, but there's a softer undercurrent to what he says. 'You really _don't_ go easy on a bloke.' He gives Sam's hands another squeeze, thoughtful almost, before letting him go.

'Guv...'

'Go ahead and think about it then – you like that sort of thing, don't you? And until you've managed to figure it all out...' He waggles his eyebrows, the smallest smile. 'Mind it at all if we get back to it?'

'Not at all,' he says, and he's smiling back, because he feels oddly at peace – with himself, and Gene, and all that's been said. Sam definitely knows he means it. 'Go on then, _wow_ me.'

Gene makes eye contact, and Sam can't look away. He's challenged him without meaning to, and Gene's accepted it. He isn't just smiling now, it's a smirk. 'Can do.'

Gene's not hurried at all, which is some sort of strange, one more truth that Sam finds hard to swallow down. Patience isn't his favourite thing, but he's happy to make a long show of it now, perhaps just so Sam knows it can be done. Exposing Sam slowly. He knows he needs to enjoy it while it lasts, because it hardly seems like the sort of thing that would end up becoming a part of their routine.

The change makes the truth of the matter that much easier to sit with: yes, he's going to end up being buggered in Lost and Found – and not for the first time – and he should say something because he knows this is a risk they shouldn't be taking. It's the sort of dangerous game they played when they were new, when they couldn't wait to get somewhere safer, needed to get their hands on each other, and _now_. Anyone could walk in, and at any bloody minute. Actually, they've taken more than enough time as is. It's a surprise someone hasn't already checked in, just to make sure that Gene's not beaten him senseless.

'Gene – '

'Don't you say a bloody word – unless, that is, you mean to tell me to _stop_.' Gene breathes out, low and dangerous, a fresh coil of heat at the base of Sam's spine, the odd flutter of his gut. 'Wouldn't want to be caught with your trousers about your ankles now, would you, eh Gladys?'

Sam shakes his head, hands slipping free of Gene's shirt as Gene slips away from him, touching his trousers now – his belt – but dealing with that with a calm sense of certainty, unwrapping Sam like he were some sort of treat. And Sam, since he does want it, doesn't say anything at all. He steadies himself against the shelving, because now that his trousers and his pants _are_ down around his ankles, there's really no easy way out of this. Not when he's achingly hard, not as Gene's hands slide down the whole of his body as he settles down onto his knees.

'Good?' Gene asks.

Sam nods. 'Yeah.' Gene's playing it safe, which is different, and Sam likes it, and –

Of course, the unthinkable happens – and probably only because Sam said it could never happen, because Gene does always love proving him _wrong_. Sam's mind absolutely flat-lines when it realises that Gene Hunt is down on his knees for him, the heavy grip of his hands locking Sam's hips in place, his mouth, hot and wet and tight, sucking Sam's prick into his mouth.

Sam chokes and groans and _whimpers_ , what a bloody undignified sound that just was, one of his hands prising itself free of the metal shelving to move, knot itself in Gene's longer hair instead. A shudder goes through him, a new wave of hot and cold, dizziness that sweeps down to his toes, could just knock him off his feet. His eyes are still closed, he thrusts slowly into the shallow heat of Gene's mouth, nearly yelping as Gene's right hand moves, grips at his arse, one finger pushing insistently into his crack.

He's never been faced with something this difficult, not crying out the way he'd like to, swallowing his moans down and losing himself in the wet of Gene's mouth. That's it, that's all it is, and it's perfect, even if sometimes all he's left feeling like is some sort of cheap toy. He doesn't know what he's feeling right now, but he doesn't feel cheap, and he certainly doesn't feel like a toy. His body is being worshiped, mouth and tongue, but he thinks he likes it. Thinks he likes? No, he loves it, _loves it_ , like he loves the man attached to the mouth that's pulling him apart.

It doesn't take long. The build up has lasted too long as it, and as he comes it shakes him to the core, as near to glorious perfection as it's ever been: unwinding, ripping at him, unravelling him completely, his vision nearly blacking out. Gene's mouth, working on him still, that and the blunt press of his fingers, pushing him along.

Sam's panting now, eyes blinking open, staring upwards into nothing and into everything as well. Gene's mouth pops off of him and Sam's going to collapse in a heap now, the orgasm took him with that much force. He doesn't, and how that happens, Sam doesn't know. As Gene stands, he turns Sam about, not manhandling him, simply guiding him into his proper place. It isn't something he should have to fight, and he really doesn't mind being on the receiving end, though maybe Sam's only thinking that because he can't think anything else. His heart hadn't really been in it, in ending this, because he's just too stupid and too blinded by it all. He hadn't wanted it to be over. That's what scares him, knowing that he's so stupidly in love.

He doesn't know how Gene really feels, and that scares him even more.

It's hard to admit that – it's really not okay – but even that's alright. Maybe it's not okay, but maybe if Gene's good luck rubs off on him, it'll end up just fine.

Sam leans into the metal shelving, clings to it, Gene's fingers spit-wet and stubbornly hot as they push into him, stretching him. He bites at his arm to keep himself from crying out, and it's not hard to imagine that Gene must be easing him open with the remnants of Sam's own release.

'Such a beauty you are,' Gene whispers, licks his lips, kisses his shoulder – a warm, wet kiss, turning to sucking at the end. Sam hears his zip goes down, loud and final, Gene's hands sinking down to grip his hips. 'I don't know what I'd do without you, Sam.'

He doesn't know if he believes what's just been said, though he'd like to, the way he'd like to believe so many other things. Sam tries not to tighten in reflex as Gene starts pushing in with his cock, biting his arm harder, _harder_ , the slow sensation of it all, being so completely filled, filled and stretched. Why is he letting this happen? Why does he _ever_ let this happen? Because he wants it, but he wants it to be so much _more_. Gene wants that, too, or else he wouldn't even be trying.

'S'alright?' Gene asks, whispers it against his skin, the smooth drag of his lips. 'Not too much?'

Sam shifts his head slowly, shaking it. 'No, no. Good. Not too much.'

Gene trembles as though an earthquake has rolled through his body, but he doesn't move, only pulls Sam back towards him. There's a quiet neediness in that stillness, and it leaves Sam unable to properly catch his breath. He presses his head against his arm, squeezes his eyes shut, Gene's fingers digging at his hips as he grinds their bodies together.

Gene draws out and then pushes his way back in, and it's slow, so slow, still steady, and it pushes the breath out of Sam's lungs. Sam could struggle to keep himself still, as Gene falls into the coarse rhythm of in and out, but Sam's as much a part in this as Gene is. As Gene moves, so does Sam. The speed of it builds and so does the erratic nature of Gene's thrusts, the hot snap of his hips. He holds Sam against him and slams him forward into the shelving, and Sam takes it because he knows it's what he wants. He groans against his arm, muffled moans, bites down when Gene drives so deep into him all he can see is blackness and stars.

Gene's face is pressed to his shoulder, Gene shuddering and groaning as he comes, opening his mouth wide and biting down on Sam's shoulder. One more cry he has to muffle, and Gene is otherwise holding him perfectly still, gives one last shudder as he sighs, hands slipping down from Sam's hips. If they got caught now, it would really be the end.

Sam sags into the shelving, needs its help to stay on his feet. Oh hell, bloody hell, this wasn't what he'd been aiming for. Gene kisses the curve of his neck, and Sam's breath hitches as Gene, just as carelessly, swats his bare arse. He hadn't been aiming for that, either, but Gene really is what he is. 'Go on,' Gene says, softly, 'don't need you standing round with your todger hanging out. Get dressed.'

Words seem like a good idea, but none of them are right. A ripple goes through him and Sam clings to the metal a moment longer, needs the support, only then he knows it's time to attend to business so he pushes himself away. Turning about, he bends over to yank his pants and his trousers back up, feels damp heat running down his leg. A visit to the loo wouldn't go amiss.

Gene, on the other hand, goes to the door, stops and turns around, leans all his weight into it. He pulls a cigarette out, goes about lighting it, the ember burning brightly and then, just like that, Gene is blowing out smoke, watching as Sam pieces himself back together. Such diametric opposites, something that should be so easy but has been made too complicated by far.

And Gene's done it again. Sam knows he's going to look like he took a thorough pounding at the Guv's hands, but Gene hardly looks like he'd just shagged him through a set of metal shelves. Not even a piece of hair is out of place, just the faintest flicker of sweat on his cheek, pale pink running down his neck. He's distant, and not just because he's moved away from Sam.

'Still alright?' he asks, as if it's that important. Sam nods, and hesitates, and really looks at Gene.

He's gorgeous. Gene doesn't know just how gorgeous he really is. Sam bites at his lip and, just like he's done so many times before, keeps those thoughts to himself. As full of himself as Gene sometimes seems, Sam doubts he'd appreciate that sort of gesture. Uneven playing field, that's what this is. Maybe if Gene thinks about it, it doesn't have to be like that forever. He trusts Gene, he does, though he's always hard to believe.

Sam finishes buttoning his shirt back up, then bends down to pick the scattered paperwork up off the ground, making a mess of the folder as he tucks it all back inside. He'd meant to get his head out of his arse and go round to question Rogers, but somehow he doesn't think he'll be getting round to that now, at least not today. He looks up at Gene, Sam still stooped down, Gene dragging the cigarette back to his lips, the end flaring, setting his eyes alight.

'Gene, I...' He'll tidy the files properly when he has the chance to _think_ , snatch his jacket up as well, he's almost there, nearly okay. 'I'll think about it, yeah?' Sam stands back up, the mask of Gene's face unbroken by any worries, and like it almost always is, unreadable.

He shakes his head, somewhat annoyed, somewhat amused. '...bloody hell, you still want to talk?'

Sam nods. 'Yeah, yeah I do.' He knows exactly what he's getting in to here, because _talking about it_ – they don't _do_ that. It isn't necessary, not being built on Gene's expectations. It always comes down to him. Even if, for the last... he has no idea how long it's been... He didn't check the time before they headed into Lost and Found. Even if, other than shagging him in a way he's never done before, they'd done a whole lot of talking about this normally avoided subject.

Gene sighs. 'Right, then... tidy up the mess you've made, then it's time for the pub.'

'Gene – '

'And once we get back to the shit-hole you call home, we can have a proper chit-chat – how does that bloody well sound?'

Sam thinks about it, then nods. '...go on without me, okay? I need some time to myself.'

'Whatever you want, Dorothy.'

If it was only that easy.

It's the slightest bit of leeway, as though somewhere inside, deep and hidden, Gene might be capable of deep and meaningful compromise – Sam's seen the start of it, after all. Gene has been married, clearly he understands the way a relationship should work – that is, if he hadn't thought himself the king of his house and his wife the way he thinks himself the king of CID, the king of _Sam_. He probably had. But that doesn't mean he has to stay like that. The times are going to change, and Sam would rather Gene bend and change with them, instead of simply break.

He looks up when at the sound of Gene's approaching footsteps. Sam blinks, and Gene nods, seemingly for no reason. 'I mean it.'

Sam nods, and he reaches out to touch Gene's cheek, Gene's hand sliding over his own, squeezing it. He wonders if he's expected to say anything – something open-ended like that, Gene had to expect he'd have something to say, right? Only, as Gene drags Sam's hand to his mouth, slowly, kisses it, Sam's got it all wrong. 'Take your time then – you always do.'

Sam huffs out a soft laugh, nods. 'Yeah, I will.'

Gene nods again, lets him go, his long legs carrying him away. The sound of the door opening and closing announces Gene's departure. There was nothing else to discuss, after all – it's obvious at this point, Gene knows that just as well as Sam. Still, for all he knows he could have put a stop to it whenever he'd wanted to, he's glad he hadn't. He feels like something was said, something that needed to be said.

This is what he wants. Even taking into consideration that Gene won't ever know what Sam gave up to come back – he doubts another situation like what happened with Tony Crane will pop up again, and not just in the manner of a murder attempt trickling back from the future: no, he definitely doesn't want to risk a situation that could end up with him being sectioned. He sees that now. This is, for better or worse, _his_ reality, the one he's chosen as his own. At least those weird things don't seem to happen anymore.

The one thing Sam does know is that he and Gene deserve so much more, more than the limitations of what Gene's allowed them to. Sam's not asking for them to hold hands in public, he doesn't want them to end up being kicked off the force, he knows they're living in a decade that's almost completely backwards – homosexuality might not be outright illegal any more, but there's still deep prejudices running through the higher ups, who knows what someone like Rathbone would think about having the pair of them in his station. Gene's an obvious enough show of those prejudices, which is funny enough, because he's had Gene's dick in his mouth, and Gene's had Sam's dick in _his_. They're pretty much as gay as it can get.

Still, Gene has expectations, and they're likely built on what society has made him into. Gene might not ever understand just what he's missing out on.

Unless he doesn't actually want more from this than what he's already got, and then he wouldn't be missing anything at all. It can't be a complete impossibility. Why wouldn't Gene want _more_? Maybe he just doesn't see that it's possible. Could just be that it's up to Sam to show him that it is. There's so much Sam needs to think about, and he needs to find the right words.

Sam winces as he sets the folders to the side so he can pull his jacket on. Get a grip on this, and then he can figure out everything else.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam tries not to make it obvious, but he's limping out of Lost and Found and there's no hiding just how rough he looks. It's clear that Gene's had a go at him, and while it's not the confrontation any of them might have imagined – well, other than Annie, and Sam mostly tries not to think about what Annie thinks about his current sex life – he still looks like if he and Gene had fought, he's the one who lost.

He shoves a grin onto his lips, hopes it looks convincing, and it takes her no time at all to catch up to him. Maybe she knows him that well, can figure it all out for herself. He's dishevelled, he looks like he's taken a beating – he's certainly walking like he had, how he'd staggered out of Lost and Found, his sense of balance gone askew. He doesn't have a budding black eye, and he doesn't have a bloody nose, but Annie's clever. She could piece things together, if she wanted to, even though he'd rather she not.

'What's the look for?'

Her gaze flickers from him to Gene's empty office, and then back over. 'Did you and the Guv...?' She shrugs, tries not to look too concerned, though it's clear enough that she cares. 'I mean, he headed off without you – isn't it time to go to the pub?'

Sam hears that part of her question, but he's stuck at the start: just what had he and Gene got up to in there? Fight? Fuck in Lost and Found? 'Ah, yeah, sorted it out for the most.' They hadn't sorted out anything – Sam's still being pulled along like a puppet on its strings, and Gene the puppet master, though there's been a small amount of give. 'Just finishing up here and then it's time to drink away my sorrows.' He grins at the end of that, just to lighten the tone of the words.

She smiles, pats his arm. 'Good – I'm glad you two had a chance to talk.' They haven't had that talk yet, but they've had... something? At least a decent start. But she doesn't have to know.

'Everyone else has headed out already,' she says, and Sam nods at her. 'Chris thought the Guv might have killed you, you were in there that bloody long... I just, you know, wanted to make sure you were okay.'

'Yes, well, we were in the middle of some very careful negotiations.'

Annie rolls her eyes, laughs. He'd thought to quickly make his way down the hall, but he doesn't quite mind that Annie's decided to get in his way. 'Is that a euphemism?'

Sam grimaces. 'I don't think you want to know.'

She nods, reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. 'I think you're right. Look, before, I...'

'I'm not angry, Annie – it's his station, and we're his officers. I'm sure neither of us want to find out what he'd do if you tried standing up to him, told him he needed to treat me better. He's not exactly the most reasonable of men, and I... obviously I don't mind that as much as I should.'

'Yes, well, I wouldn't have worded it quite like that, but you're right. Still, I'm sorry.'

'I know – but it's okay. He... he listened to me, a little? I think so, anyhow. I... I haven't given up on him yet. I still think this can work out.'

She gives him a piercing look, stares right through him, then nods, squeezing his arm. She's still not telling him 'I told you so'. She's being wonderful when he probably needs to be slapped. 'Guess that's all that matters then, isn't it?'

He nods, because he doesn't know what else to say. 'Alright then – i'll see you a bit later then?' He nods once more, and Annie grins, pats his arm once more. 'Take care of yourself, Sam – leave some of these files for tomorrow, you push yourself too hard!'

He nods, even smiles. He feels dirty, really could do with a shower. His hands pause, and while he listens to her footsteps fading into the distance, he ends up glaring at the Rogers' casefile. He picks it up, flips through it until he finds Timothy Rogers' contact information. Gene's going to go through the roof when he finds out that Sam's gone ahead and called Rogers in, but he's been trying to make a point about something, thinking that Gene had a lesson he needed to learn.

Maybe he's got it all messed up, and it's the other way around.

–

'Thank you for agreeing to come in, Mr Rogers.'

Timothy Rogers nods and smiles, already sitting in the seat he'd been offered. There's a sort of eeriness to Lost and Found at this time of evening, the shadows really gathering. At least it doesn't smell like an obvious den of sex and sin, not beneath the typical mustiness that clouds the air, the leftover items that witnesses and suspects never came back to claim. There's a clown in the back right corner that Sam always tries to avoid.

He knows he'll be missed soon enough, but Gene's more likely to check his flat before he double-checks at the station. It would have been better if they could have met at the Rogers' home, only that's not possible, not with it being an active crime scene. Sam doesn't even know where Rogers has been staying in the interim. Once upon a time, wouldn't he have wondered?

Rogers is still smiling, gaze twitching about nervously. 'Have you learned anything new...? Is Mikey still...?'

Sam shakes his head, taps his pen against the tabletop. 'No, we've not learned anything new, and Mr Richards is... is still our lead suspect in this, and that thanks to you. Actually, what I need to tell you... well, it's a bit harder to say than I'd originally thought it would be.' There's no telling why he's trying to keep the man at ease, not with what he's got planned to tell him. Gene's not here, and Sam's not feeling nearly as petty, as blind.

Timidly, Rogers speaks up. 'And why's that, Inspector Tyler?'

'I know you're not going to like what you hear.' Why is he trying to take care? He knows what he's doing here, and he wants to believe that Rogers is just as likely a suspect as his mate is, if not more... so what's the point in him pussyfooting around? Sam opens his mouth to continue, slams it shut in a flash, just as the door to Lost and Found opens and closes in turn.

'Not interrupting anything here, am I?' Gene doesn't sound like he's pleased, not that Sam feels he needs to turn around and actually look at the man. He also knows there's no point in making excuses, because this is exactly what it is. If he's very lucky, maybe Gene won't decide to make an example of him in front of their witness-turned-suspect. It's not too much to hope for, is it?

He'd been so certain it would take longer for Gene to figure out he'd stayed at the station. Maybe he understands Sam better than Sam understands himself.

Sam sets his pen aside, picks up his notepad. 'Not at all, Guv – was just about to ask Rogers to run through the events of the night that led up to him finding his wife.'

Rogers groans. 'Oh, Alice. Why are you making me go through this again, Inspector? I can't... I can't...' Sam feels the hair prickling along the back of his neck, the sudden nearness of Gene's body, his hand locked onto Sam's shoulder. He squeezes, doesn't stop, squeezes a bit harder. Sam grimaces, gritting his teeth, only then – just like that – Gene leaves off and steps to the side, dropping down into the empty chair to Sam's right.

For the recorder's benefit, Sam clears his throat: 'Joining us for the interview is DCI Gene Hunt.'

He can feel Gene's glare, heating his cheek. He ignores it, smiles towards Rogers instead, reaches up to where Gene's grip had so recently rested, giving his shoulder a quick massage.

'We know it's hard on you, Mr Rogers, but I assure you it's necessary for the investigation to progress. If you want us to find out who killed your wife, we're going to need you to go over it all again...' He looks sideways, catches Gene's gaze, forces a smile that Gene grudgingly returns. Honestly, it's more like a glare.

He shakes his head, mouths 'are you bloody cracked?' and Sam has to fight back the urge to laugh. Maybe he is. It can't be that Gene's only just getting that.

When Sam holds his gaze half a moment longer, his expression softens. Gene's still giving him a look, but it's somewhat more understanding than it had so recently been, and Sam nods back at him in order to give his thanks. Maybe Sam _is_ cracked, but at least Gene's going to let him go through with it. For now.

He'll be making an issue of this once Rogers is gone then. Sam knows it's going to come to a head. He's been asking for it – no, begging for it. The instance from earlier in the day was only a temporary reprieve. They both bent some, instead of just breaking. Sam keeps on asking for it, and he's going to get what he wants.

Sam turns back to Rogers, who sits fidgeting in his seat. 'So, if you could start from the beginning...'

Rogers nods, picks at the cuff of his sleeve, sighs loudly before absently shaking his head. 'It was half six when I left the pub, I had a glass of cranberry juice with an orange slice, Alice liked it best when we went out drinking together. It would have been our anniversary next week, did you know?' His expression shattered, Rogers laughs, soft and bitter. 'No, you wouldn't have.'

Sam grimaces. It keeps getting harder, more and more difficult to swallow. How is it he'd been so certain of it before? 'I really am very sorry about your loss, Mr Rogers. Where did you go after you left the pub?'

Rogers looks off to the side, thoughtful, blows out a soft breath before he continues. 'Back to my office, I'd left a file I needed to look over, you know, there was a detail I needed to check. I hadn't meant to be there long, but I suppose I must have lost track of time, got sucked back into me work. It was going on nine when I left, about a quarter after when I pulled up to our home.'

Sam nods, going over the notes – the coroner's report put Alice's time of death between seven and nine PM – but it's Gene who opens up next: 'Go on.'

'It happens. I know I'm just an accountant, you can think what you'd like about me for that, but I like the work I do. Alice would fuss at me, she always did...' Another absent shake of his head, an unhappy chuckle accompanying the movement. 'Yes, well, the front door was unlocked, which was strange, but we're all human, we forget things sometimes.' Sighing, Rogers reaches up to dash his hand across his eyes. 'I was ready to apologise, really kiss up if needed, she always put so much effort into making supper and I knew she'd be cross. Only I walked inside and I... and I...'

Sam looks up from his notepad, really studies Rogers. The flicker of his gaze, the quick intake of his breath. He looks so lost, so very in need, cut loose from someone he'd loved so much, who'd been so essential. How could someone have taken his wife away from him the way they had? Could it have actually been him? 'And you found her there on the floor, dead.'

Rogers nods, blinks rapidly. He's trying not to fall apart, but he's not doing a very good job. 'Yes, well, I checked for a pulse, I... I did some training in National Service. I know I don't look the type.'

Gene sighs, leans back in his chair. 'We're all capable of a great many things.'

A slight nod, Rogers gripping at the edge of the table. 'Yes, well, and I... I didn't know what to do. I called the police and only then did I notice the broken window...' He trails off then, bites at his lip, has a moment where his face is so screwed up Sam's sure he's about to start blubbering. He blows another breath out instead, mutters something, something that sounded like: 'Get your act together, Tim – what would Alice think of it, you falling apart like this?'

'What was that? Just so we have it on record.'

Rogers nods slowly, ends up with his head held high, an illusion of him being in control. 'Just that I need to get it together, Inspector.'

'Thank you.' Sam puts his pen down, the notepad as well. 'And that's it?'

'Yes, that's it, as clear as I can remember.'

As Rogers has been going through the night again, Sam's been reading through his original statement – checking over his own notes as well – and as much as he hates to admit it, the details match. It's either a very well-rehearsed story, or he happens to be telling the truth – and why wouldn't he be telling the truth? The times match up for when Rogers was still out, they'd corroborated with the pub when he'd left, went through surveillance at his office. All of it fits. Sam's holding on to this like it's a grudge.

A grudge directed at Gene. He's trying to prove a point, and he's failing at it – badly. Wasting their time, wasting police resources. No wonder Gene's been trying to knock some sense back into him.

'Mike Richards – how long have you known him?' Sam picks the pad up again, flips over to his notes from the original interview with Richards.

He glances up, just in time to see Rogers grimacing. 'Since we were lads. He was my best man, when Alice and I married, he... we both fancied Alice, back when we were in university, but it was me she chose to marry. I suppose he never got over that. I... oh bloody hell. He could have taken it out on me, why did he have to pick her?' He rubs at his cheek, then his hand slides across his eyes. 'I'm really sorry, I...'

Maybe he would have taken it out on Rogers, if only he'd been home. Perhaps he'd be dead like his wife was, if Richards really is the one who attacked her. It's bad now, but it could have been worse.

'I... I understand, Mr Rogers. It's been hard on you, unbelievably so.'

Sam's standing on the edge now, he's really at a loss. He'd expected this to be easy, but it's far more difficult than he ever could have planned. Rogers is still on the verge of crying, he dashes the hint of tears from his eyes, giving what Gene would have called a very unmanly sniffle, and Sam is torn. Could Rogers have done it – it doesn't seem likely. No, with the evidence, it just doesn't seem possible at all.

Sam just needs to stop being a prick. Perhaps Rogers could just be putting on a good show, but Sam's more than just not certain. He knows that just the faintest sliver of doubt is more than enough to keep him from going through with it. And there's so much more than that, when he looks at everything at hand.

'I... we thank you for your time.' Gene gives Sam another critical look, really stares him down. He knew what Sam's plan had been, and it's clear he's wondering what made Sam change his mind.

Rogers nods, gives another sniffle. He leaves it at that, presses his lips together, shaking his head as he quickly stands up. 'I'm sorry – please, I'm so very sorry.' He hurries from the room, the door slamming behind him, a watery sob following in his wake.

Immediately, Gene stands, leaves Sam sitting in his chair. He paces about the room, his eyes on Sam at all times, and Sam knows he's just waiting for the ball to drop. He checks his watch, clears his throat. 'Interview concluded at 7:29 pm.'

At least now the tape recorder won't catch Gene giving him a thorough lashing – one he desperately deserves.

'Well, what gives? Thought you were happy to nail the poor man and send him down for his own wife's murder? Wait, don't tell me – you paid attention to the bloody evidence, so you know it couldn't have been him.'

The bitterness that Gene is spewing at him is well deserved, and Sam takes it like a man. 'I... I'd been so convinced, we had to be missing something, something... I didn't want it to add up, and it added up so neatly. But talking to him...'

Sam shakes his head, his cheeks burning, goes about tidying his notes and doing everything in his power to not look at Gene. 'I just don't think he's got it in him, the evidence doesn't have anything to do with it. He's still so very in love with her, you can see it... and yes, maybe that's just his guilt talking, but it counts as reasonable doubt in my mind. We should talk to Richards again, see if we can get him to agree to a deal – anything to help put that poor man's mind at rest.'

'Not like he'll ever get over this, Sam.'

'I know that.'

And that should be that. Sam's wrong, Gene is right, but Gene keeps on pushing. 'Love changes a person, you know that – maybe he got tired of her, had a mate handy who could take the blame, so he killed her, neat as that.' His voice is low, rough around the edges, and there's something in the way he's speaking that's causing Sam's arms to prickle with goosebumps.

'I... I thought you'd be happy I decided to lighten up on him.'

Gene snorts softly, raises one eyebrow. 'Just doing my best obnoxious impression of you, rather fair take on your being a picky-pain and a bastard, don't you think?'

Sam sighs, shakes his head. 'Love changes a person.' He doesn't know what's brought him to repeat that, but he imagines there must be some important reason. Either way, given how Gene's other eyebrow shoots up, the repetition has been noticed.

'Suppose it does, not always for the better.'

'Maybe not always. I just... I know it's not him. Happy now?'

'Am I ever? Waste of bloody time this has been, could charge you for that and waste of police resources.'

'You know that feeling when you think you've finally got it all sorted out only... only you honestly haven't even got the first clue?' Sam shakes his head slightly, rubs at his cheek.

Gene doesn't even hide the fact he's rolled his eyes at Sam. 'You make me feel like that all the bloody time.'

All Sam does is rise from his seat, and turn away. Gene, of course, can't just let that be.

'Oi, where do you think you're going? What did I say about you turning your back on me?'

Sam stops, squares his shoulders. 'Look, I just... I need some time to think about all this? We both need some time to _think_. Go to the pub. You can beat me up for being an obnoxious little shit later, okay?' For one long moment Sam knows he's gone and done it, he's finally said too much, which really is something because he keeps on saying too much. Gene huffs, an annoyed sounding sigh, and smacks his back, hard. Sam turns away, wincing, Gene glaring down the bridge of his nose at him, tall and magnificent. It's moments like these when there's no denying what he sees in his Guv, even if he is something of a brute. 

'Gene, please...'

The glare fades, his expression softens, the tension easing out into empty air. 'Go on, think it out all you need to – already told you to take your time. You know where I'll be.'

Relieved and grateful, Sam smiles. He reaches out, his hand sliding against Gene's. It's a small gesture, Gene turning his hand about, brushing his fingers against Sam's palm. If he hadn't already been smiling, that definitely would have given him reason to, and as it stands, it brightens that much more. Not that it had been much to start with.

Gene, though, glowers. 'Just don't keep me waiting too long.'

Momentarily giddy, wondering just how close he'd been to getting hit again, Sam nods. 'Course not, Guv.'

–

He heads out into the night and walks along the streets of his city, alone with his thoughts. He doesn't know what leads him to his flat, a lapse in judgement, maybe a moment of temporary insanity, and whichever it was he throws the latch and heads inside. He'll get it for this, the way he gets it for everything, and maybe he'll deserve it. One way or another, he's really been asking for it, and Gene keeps on giving it to him, but clearly Sam's too blind to let it go. All he needs is to really piss Gene off, force him to show Sam who's really boss.

Sam prickles. They're meant to be the same rank. It's easier for Gene to throw his weight around – he's got more of it, after all, a solid wall of man with some extra padding about the gut – but there needs to be a more equal give and take here. Not all and nothing in return.

'Oi.'

Somehow, it doesn't surprise him that Gene's followed him to the flat. Maybe he kept the Cortina at a polite distance – does Gene even do polite? – followed Sam as he took his long walk. He doesn't feel he's thought enough, maybe he never will.

Sam doesn't slam the door on him, lets him in. 'Thought you were heading to the pub.'

A light gets flipped on. 'Knew you wouldn't show.'

Sam grins, his expression hidden from Gene. 'You really have figured me all out.'

'Mostly.' The door closes, and as Sam starts shrugging out of his jacket, Gene's hands fall down onto his shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. There's a lot in that grip, the promise of so much – of pleasure, of pain, maybe just a blend of the both.

'Don't tell me, you're pissed at me for standing you up?'

'How could I ever get angry with you? Just think that twice in one night, that's bloody excessive.' The sarcasm drips from Gene's words, they'll both drown in it at this rate. Effortlessly, Gene twists Sam around, his hands settled back down onto his shoulders. He could have put up a fight, but he's tired – he's been fighting so much lately, there has to be an end. Gene's staring down at him, studying him with quiet intent. A minute passes by, at least that long, and he shakes his head, frowning. 'Now, I'm sure I'll end up regretting it immensely, but go on and tell me what's got your knickers in a twist. I know you, Sam, and I don't believe you – you don't still mean to say it's over.'

Sam huffs, grimaces. 'No bloody clue what you're getting at. Sorted that out, didn't we? Gave me a proper shagging, put me in my place.'

A roll of his eyes, just as effortless as when he bodily manhandles Sam about. He hadn't put much heat into the words, and Gene hardly seems perturbed. 'And you're still lying to me. Come on – I'm trying to be reasonable here, do that 'talking' thing you like so much, even though we've done too bloody much of it already.' He pauses, as if to make a point – does the point sink in? 'So hurry on up and tell your Guv what's wrong, he'd like to make it all better.'

'Gene, please...'

'The offer won't be on the table much longer, Sam – hurry up,' he snaps, a flash in his eyes, the flare of his nostrils. 'Before I change my sodding mind.'

Sam shakes his head. He tugs away from Gene's hold, surprised when he lets go. Sam turns away, heads over to the bottle awaiting him on the worktop. Had he drank some that morning? Is he as bad as Gene, needs to get some fire in his gut just to get the day started?

He reaches for the bottle. That doesn't have to matter, not in the here and now. That's what this is, forever and after: the here and now, and it's all Sam has. He wants to make the best of it, and he wants Gene to feel the same way. 'Have a drink.'

He pours himself one, grabs another glass down. Gene, all the while, stands and watches him, his irritation likely growing, second by second. Sam's going to get hit soon, or worse – what could be worse? And why, the question begs to be asked (and answered, then analysed, and over-analysed, in turn) does he not seem to care?

'Right, the silent treatment – have I ever told you, you really are – '

Sam turns around, shoves the glass forward. 'Can we not go there? You know, just the once?'

'Whatever, Doris. Come on – loosen your bloody lips and tell us what the problem is.' Still, he's snatched the glass from Sam's hand, drains it down in one go. It's going to be one of those nights. No, it's already been one of them, from the very start. There's no getting away from that, and there's definitely no sense in backing down.

No, he's got a good head-start already, why not follow it all the way through?

'It's... you know. Okay,' he glowers at Gene now, knocks his own drink down, his senses burning from the inside out as it falls down into his stomach, slams into it like a well-placed punch. 'If you want to know what it is, maybe I'll tell you.'

'Right, is that some sort of threat?' Gene shakes his head, takes two steps forward, perhaps hoping to push Sam back against the worktop – Sam, though, holds his ground. He barks out a laugh, jabs Sam in the shoulder. 'Bloody nonce, I want you to tell me what the problem is, remember? Because I'd like to act like I can be a decent human being, from time to time, and maybe help you out.'

A decent human being – is that even possible? Sam shakes his head, rubs a hand back through his hair. 'I... we need to work on the boundaries of our relationship, Guv – I feel like I give and you take, and... and I don't exactly feel like we're on even ground here.'

He hardly feels it's possible, him having managed to say what needed to be said – any moment now, he expects some part of Gene's body to slam into his, most likely a fist – but all Gene does is step back, eyes gone wide. Maybe he'd never thought of it like that. That would be why it was an expectation, after all.

Another laugh, just as sharp. 'You like it.'

Sam's nearly frowning. 'Maybe I do, but that's hardly the point.'

The look of surprise fades into a disgruntled frown. 'What? Don't tell me, you don't feel like it's bloody fair, do you?'

'I know.' Sam puts his glass down onto the worktop, shaking his head as he half-turns away from his Guv – what's so interesting about the bathroom, from this angle, he doesn't know, but maybe he can fake a response, at least if it's pushed. 'I'm such a girl.'

He's putting himself in the open now, he's left himself defenceless. Gene laughs, small and soft. 'Thought you didn't want to go there.'

Sam can't help it, the grin that steals over his lips, nor the small chuckle that escapes him. 'Don't remind me.' The pain, he likes it. The comparisons, he must not mind them. He could have made an issue of it the first time he'd ever been called 'Gladys', but like some other things, it's really just too late.

There's a shuffle of footsteps as Gene moves closer. He doesn't reach out to touch Sam, but Sam still feels his presence completely, the somewhat dizzying heat of his body. 'Still, seems to me that you're a bloke in all the ways that matter.'

'Gene...' He closes his eyes, draws a deep breath, slowly blows it out.

Gene speaks up, breaks that tentative silence. 'Oi. S'true. You are.'

'Is that flattery?' He turns back to face Gene, takes so much more effort than he'd have expected. There Gene is, like he always is, insurmountable and breathtakingly himself. If it's flattery, Sam's dazed enough to accept it.

Gene gives a small shrug, one accompanied by an annoyed grunt. 'Take it or leave it.'

Sam's not stupid, he's not blind, of course he's going to take it, just the way he takes everything else. Maybe that's what being in love does to a person – turns them into a terminal idiot – but he's already lost too much to lose _Gene_. His respect, not that it's often given, though Sam notices it more and more and more these days. His own specific brand of affection, and not just when they've fought too hard and fists follow on after the kisses. Gene's clearly capable of so much more. If not, he'd have cowed down to societal demands and not gone through with any of it from the start, from their first bloody kiss that was so quickly followed by their first dirty shag. Gene wants this to work out just as much as Sam does, or else he wouldn't have stuck around, stuck with it, and maybe it isn't just that he needs to think about it more. Maybe, even with Sam having pointed it out to him, he just doesn't see it yet. Sam has to get Gene to open his eyes.

'I... we need to work on this, okay?' Sam reaches out, touches the lapel of Gene's coat, runs his fingers up the curve of his neck, watching, entranced, as Gene shivers when the tentative touch is first made, leans into it as he lingers. 'Right, I get it, you're king of the jungle, you're the boss, but this – this isn't work, Guv. This is us. You and me. I know you think I'm making something out of nothing...'

Gene's whisky-hot breath rolls over him. 'But you're gonna think that no matter what I say, isn't that right?'

'Yeah, it is.' This is it, he knows it is, he's gone and put it out in the open, and... and nothing happens. The world does not end, and Gene is not beating him to within an inch of his life, which is... so much more than this nothing that is currently going on. It leaves him confused but _hopeful_ , however, and he shakes his head in amazement, knows that expression of wonder must be showing on his face.

Gene blinks, the quirk of his eyebrows indicating his own confusion. 'You look surprised.'

Sam shrugs, palm curved against the heat of Gene's neck. 'You haven't hit me. Or laughed in my face. I'm a bit stunned.'

Gene huffs out a harsh, abrupt laugh. 'Must be having a good day.'

'I...'

'Go on and spit it out, Sammy-boy. Any more nails you feel like hammering into my coffin?' Nails? He's plucked Sam's hand up from where it had been place, kisses the palm of it, a slight nothing that sends a spiral of heat straight through him, causes him to wince. Like Gene does sometimes, he notices that small detail. Sam could curse himself, but he keeps it to himself.

Gene notices the silence as well, and his irritation flares, just as hot. 'Oh bloody hell, Sam, _say it_. Don't tell me the cat's got your sodding tongue, there's no point in you suddenly deciding to play the blushing virgin.' He chuckles, eyes glinting. 'There's not an inch of you that's virginal, Sammy-boy, as you bloody well know.'

He doesn't blush this time. 'I want you to... I want you to have to work for it, Guv.' He's whispering now, doesn't that seem daft? 'I don't want to just put out and spread my legs for you because it's _expected_. I want you to understand that... that this is an equal partnership, you and me. You can boss me around when we're on duty, but not... Not in _this_.'

Gene keeps his mouth shut for a moment at least, thinking it over. 'Softly softly then, eh?' 

Sam nods, and it makes it feel like he's spinning out of control. 'Sometimes – not always. I mean, I'd be lying if I told you I didn't sometimes... a lot of the times... like it rough. I just... I want this to work out, Guv. You don't know badly I want this to work out.'

For one moment, there's a flash of something in Gene's eyes, something deep and troubling – Gene's gonna hit him, finally push him away, end it the way he should have from the start, the way Sam had thought he wanted it to end as well. The way Sam never even wanted to call it love, but there's no denying what it is, since that's what he calls it more and more these days. 'This what you were hinting at, today in Lost and Found? You want me to try harder. What if I've been trying my hardest?'

Having said that, the something in his eyes shifts. It's not anger – no, it's something more open, more revealing, the slightest show of _fear_. Perhaps Sam is all wrong about it, it happens from time to time – maybe Gene _does_ know how how badly Sam wants it to work out, because he wants it to as well.

Gene's voice is rougher, husky, as he replies: 'Right, and what do you want me to do about that?'

Sam groans, his own irritation growing – they're such useless things, frivolous, hopes and dreams, and Sam can admit that, even having lived his life in the pursuit of them. Does Gene want to try? Is he getting it at all? Or is Sam just asking for something that will never be, wrong about all that too, the fear and the vulnerability: them, whatever they are, are something he should have realised would never work out. 'Just... put some effort into it, okay? Make me... believe.'

'Believe what?' He's whispering, too. Still holding onto Sam's hand, still standing too close.

Sam shakes his head, that wordless irritation growing. 'That this... I mean, that we...' He trails off into nothingness, grinds his teeth in frustration. There's so much he wants to say, but the words are harder to come by than he ever could have imagined, pushing at him like annoying little gnats and then flitting away. Maybe he should just write a list, or make a chart – that he doesn't expect to be coddled, but some gentler ministrations wouldn't go amiss. That he doesn't mind it when Gene takes him like there's no tomorrow, even when he's sore for days after, but could Gene try a bit harder than knocking him back onto the bed and having a go at it?

'The silent treatment again, Tyler – getting bloody obnoxious.'

The moment snaps, and Sam nearly does as well. What he couldn't say in Lost and Found, there's no way he's not saying it now. Whether Gene appreciates it, or understands it, he doesn't actually care. 'That I actually matter to you!'

Another flash in his eyes, Gene's temper is really swelling – his grip on Sam's wrist tightens, no doubt his left hand is balling into a fist, and any second now, this is going to escalate into the fight it was always meant to be, the one it keeps hinting at, before easing back down. As if fate's playing at being a tease, and they're caught up in its net. Sam can be a flirt when he needs to, and of course he'd go and flirt with danger.

Gene blows his breath out, something softening – his grip relaxes, and so do the strained lines of his face. Still, there's a brittleness to his words as he speaks. 'Anything else you want? Maybe the Crown Jewels?'

'Gene – '

Gene's hands are all over him, all at once, pulling Sam against him, bringing their mouths together in a kiss that's far too abrupt, definitely has too much edge to it. Like he's sinking into nothing, Sam groans and grabs a hold of Gene, needs something to keep himself afloat. See – there's heat here, so much, _too_ much, but it's fire that Sam craves, something he knows he needs. He wants this in his life, needs to know it's his – he wants to know he makes Gene feel just as good as he makes Sam feel, oh God, Sam tries, he knows he does, but does he try enough?

Gene yanks himself away from the kiss, ends it as suddenly as it had first started, and Sam – raggedly breathing – leans into him, still holding on with all he has. 'Right. Just the once, we'll try this. And not just to humour you.'

'Ah, aren't you being attentive, putting all my fears to rest.'

'That what you need, is it?'

'Right now, yeah.'

'Then yeah, sure, that's what it is.'

'I... thanks. Nice to know I'm more than your punching bag.'

Another laugh, slow and soft. Sam's so caught up in the moment, in _Gene_ , he notices nothing else. 'You're so much more than that. You feel like...?'

What would he like? Sam shakes his head, brushes a kiss at the corner of Gene's mouth. 'I'd really just like to get some sleep. Could heat up some leftovers first though, if you'd like it?' If he thinks about it, he's still sore, run ragged – he hardly feels like he's recovered from their earlier bout, let alone the one the weekend before.

Gene huffs out an amused chuckle, eyes shining. Oh, there's heat there, heat and want, and so much more. And all Sam wants to know is that it's all his, just the way that he's all Gene's. 'Fair enough. But afterwards, you'd best make room for the both of us in that bloody bed of yours, I'm staying the night.'

'Really?' Sam grins, looks away before he laughs. 'Why am I always the last to know?'

–

After that, they don't talk about it – that conversation, like so many others they'd had before, simply vanishes, poofs into thin air. Never to be referenced again, if Gene has his say in it, and he's well acquainted already with just how good Gene is at getting his own way. How exactly can they sort this issue out if Gene's determined to be the same sort of stubborn bastard he normally is? It _is_ an issue. Sam doesn't know what it's done to Gene, but it's certainly pressing all its weight down on him.

There might be benefits – they might not be talking about it, but if a lesson's been learned, it's not being ignored. There's no more tense silences in the office, no more shouting matches that almost turn to punch-ups, for the rest of their team to enjoy. Work is getting done. There's criminals to catch, and the Rogers-Richards case isn't the only one in the world. Gene sends Sam out with Annie to collect statements for a robbery-turned-shoot out. It's good to get out of the office – like it tends to, it helps Sam clear his head.

Of course, on getting back to the station, that's when the shit decides to hit the fan.

Chris flashes a cheery smile, holding a cup of tea in one hand. 'Oi, Boss – glad you're back. The Guv's got that bloke Mike Richards in Lost and Found right now... you think you want to sit in on that?'

Sam's eyes go wide. Gene wouldn't have – no, of course he would.

He looks sideways at Annie – her eyes are just as wide. It was intentional on Gene's part, making sure they were out of the station while he had Richards brought in.

'Fuck. I can't believe him! The bloody _nerve_ of that man!'

Annie touches his arm, Chris cringes – he's probably never heard Sam use such strong language. 'The bloody bastard! I said we should speak to Richards, see if he could agree to a deal... knowing Gene, he'll just try and beat the truth out of him instead!'

'Sam, you really don't – ' He jerks away from Annie, shoves his notebook into Chris' free hand.

'Put that on my desk!' He's away in a frantic rush after that, ignores Annie calling out his name. They'd been out for an hour – plenty of time for Gene to work one over on Richards – shit, he really could have done some real damage in that time. Sam knocks his way into Lost and Found, knows that if Gene's trying to prove a point then maybe he'll have tried to murder the man, and if that's what –

The door slams shut behind him. There's a choking noise – a sob – and Sam knows it's too late. 'Bloody hell, Guv, I – wait – _what_?'

He comes to a sudden stop, having dashed around the shelving. The light is dim, the room hazy from smoke. It's just Gene and Richards in the room, just as Sam had expected it would be. Gene, sat back in his chair, legs splayed, rubs one hand across his forehead as he sighs, crushes out his cigarette with the other. After that, both hands free, he reaches out to switch off the tape recorder.

Across the table, Richards is bent forward, shaking as he sobs – he's in an obvious state of distress, but other than that, it doesn't look like he'd been roughed up (at least not physically). When he looks up, his face is red and splotchy, his distress clear. 'I didn't mean to hurt her, I just – I was so angry, you know?' He hiccups and cries some more, shakes his head, and the tears just keep falling down. 'At Alice, at Tim... we could have all been so happy, but she only had eyes for him.'

Sam blinks, the moment dropping on top of him, the situation as it's been presented to him somewhat hard to swallow. Now he really feels foolish for having run across the station, but how could he have expected that he would find _this_. 'You... you've confessed.' He looks at Richards, and then at Gene – had Gene been watching him all the while?

He nods. 'Got it on tape, thought that might tickle your fancy.'

Blinking again, Sam shakes his head as he laughs, confused and relieved. 'You always seem to amaze me.'

Gene grins at him, though it's lacking. He stands, goes about the table, grabs Richards up from his chair. 'Right then, now that we've got that all sorted out – suppose that means you're nicked.'

'I need to tell him I'm sorry,' Richards wails, shaking his head, and for as agitated as he is, he doesn't seem to want to put up a fight. No, not when he knows what he's done. 'Please, I need to – you've got to let me...'

Gene shakes him hard, not that it gets the man to stop his sobbing. No, when the cuffs get snapped back on, all he does is cry more and more. 'Please, please, I need to talk to him – I just have to tell him... he's been my best mate, and...'

Gene shakes his head, Richards mostly senseless to the world. 'Don't think he'll care to listen, sunshine. No coming back from something like this.'

He gives Sam a look, and Sam looks back at him, nods. 'Guess I'll tidy up here, get started on the paperwork.'

'Good boy.' He goes about dragging Richards from the room, though he's still not putting up a fight, just a limp doll being dragged in Gene's wake. The silence that follows as the door shuts behind the two of them, swallows Sam up completely, leaves him with the storm of his thoughts. He probably should apologise to Annie for having run off like that, to Chris as well, but should he even try to apologise to Gene for something he's not even aware of Sam having thought about him?

What had he honestly expected, that Gene would beat the living snot out of the man? Why not? The Gene Hunt he knows is capable of that, and so much more. But no, he'd spoken to him instead of physically attacking him, and that must mean he reasoned with him – got a confession out of him, one that Sam wishes he could have been there to see. He eyes the tape recorder on the table, the discarded packet of fags to its right. When Gene was still in the room, that half of the table had been hidden behind his bulk.

Since he missed out on seeing it, just hearing it will have to do.

–

At least knowing will help Timothy Rogers start to move on, though losing his wife – and his best mate, too – can't be something he'll let go of quickly, maybe even at all. Sam makes the call, even asks if Rogers wants to come in and say anything to Richards. There's a pause, a watery sigh. 'Don't think I can bring myself to look at him right yet,' and the softness of his voice paints the rage and sorrow in a far more subdued hue than Sam might have imagined. It's that much more effective.

–

'Pub?' he asks, and Gene nods. Sam smiles, not that Gene thinks to return one. No, he just shrugs his way into his coat, pats down his chest.

Gene comes back empty handed, but nods. 'Sure, need to pick up some cigarettes first.'

'Good. I'm buying – at the pub, I mean.'

His Guv huffs out a small laugh. He's been oddly quiet since the interview with Mike Richards, stuck in a mood, thoughtful and quiet. It's a Gene Sam's not used to seeing, and one he's not sure he could get used to being around. 'In that case, booze first, then smokes.'

Sam knows Gene did the best job that he could – above and beyond what he typically aims for, but that's just the universe reminding him that he has had some good impact on this place, right down to the roots. And Gene, beyond the obvious, has had some good impact on him as well. He wants to tell Gene he's done a good job, did it all the way he should have, proper procedure and to the letter, but he doubts his sincerity would be fully understood – or, yet again, even appreciated. He just needs to figure out how to shake Gene from this funk.

'Want me to drive?' That rouses Gene, and he swats at Sam's shoulder, briskly shoves him away. Sam should have known that would work, and he can't hide his relieved grin.

'Not unless I'm dead.'

Sam rolls his eyes, but there's the spark of something in Gene's retort, something warm – that much more alive. He bumps sideways into him, shoving right back. 'Don't be so morbid.'

'Not morbid – everybody dies, Sammy-boy.'

_Don't I know it_ , and that's one more thing he could say but simply doesn't. Sam smiles, and when Gene doesn't shove back, they're left walking side by side through the halls of their station, out into the evening tinted sky of their city, arms brushing together from time to time.

'Thank you,' he says, when they stop and stand at the top of the stairs, looking down into the thicker darkness below. Gene laughs and it makes Sam smile all over again, because he never hears Gene laughing like that – happy, absolutely cut loose, light and free. Gene squeezes Sam's shoulder, applies the right amount of pressure.

'Maybe I should say _thank you_?'

–

He's trying, he really is, and maybe that's what makes it seem like Gene's so out of himself. Sam thought it was getting better. Only, it's not. Gene's restraining himself in every single thing he does, in what words he says, in when he chooses to touch Sam at all. There's been no fights at work, but what that really means is that there's been no real touching at _all_.

If he isn't already crazy, this is certainly driving him mad.


	4. Chapter 4

Pub, pub, pub, mix well and then repeat – at least if the seventies have turned Sam into an alcoholic, it doesn't get in the way of him doing his job. He could say the same about Gene. He drinks his weight in good whisky, from time to time, but he's never missed a day because of it – hell, he doesn't even come in late. He's as dedicated to the job as Sam is, and maybe in some ways he's _more_ dedicated. This is _Gene's_ Manchester, and while Sam's grown fond of it, it's not the same connection. This is Gene's world, it always has been. Sam's made it his as well, but he had to _choose_.

They've fallen into a pattern and there seems to be no escaping from it, only then it's the fourth night in a row and Gene finally puts a stop to it: there's no offer of going to the pub, and whose turn anyway would it have been to buy the first round? Gene doesn't give an explanation or an excuse for not going, and Sam's left feeling so on edge he feels like he's going to pop.

He's asked for so much already, he feels like an explanation is due but he really would just be digging his foot in it then, really digging his own grave: that is, asking to be hit. Maybe that's just what they both need, a punch-up to really clear the air – all their previous attempts at just that had somehow veered off course. Gene, gone quiet and reflective, isn't something Sam's ever going to be able to grow used to – surely Gene must feel the same way.

'What's going on?' They've driven past the Railway Arms by the time Sam finally opens his mouth to find out _why_. 'Why the change in plan? Been doing us wonders, drinking ourselves unconscious. What's stopping us from doing it again tonight?'

He's scowling across the shadow-painted gloom of the car's cab. Gene glowers back, but the heat is like a well-banked fire, steady and low. 'Hungry – thought we might have a meal together.'

'Oh – alright.' That leaves him at a loss. Of course Gene would be hungry, it's been a long day, and Sam's well-acquainted now with Gene's dislike of eating alone. He'd had that quirk since before his wife had left, at least as far as Sam can tell, so what exactly had caused it to develop it in the first place? Maybe his marriage running cold from the start, that could have done it. He could ask, but he knows he never will. If it was something Gene wanted to talk about, he trusts Gene to say the first thing.

They don't go for curry. They end up at a crowded little diner instead, packed so tightly into their booth that Sam feels like a fish trapped in a tin. The air is thick, the atmosphere is cheerful and loud.

'Having the usual, love?'

'Will do, Martha.' Gene bumps his elbow against Sam's. 'And the same for my scrawny DI here, he needs to put some bloody meat on his bloody bare bones. Keep the tea coming.'

Martha flashes a toothy grin at him, then glances towards Sam. 'You must be Sam then, eh? Goes on about you all the time, he does.'

Not sure as to whether that's a good thing or not, Sam just smiles back at her and blows a breath out once she's got her back to them, thankful he hadn't blushed. 'Great.' He sighs, but he's noticed something important. Gene talks about him? 'Grease with more grease, just what I wanted.' Gene... talks about him? He's stuck on that one little thing, it's too much to believe. He grunts as Gene elbows him once more, this time in the side, and that helps to get Sam's thoughts back on other things. 'Right – I'll just sit here and be quiet and be gracious. You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

'I'm trying here, you know? Seems like you could at least do the same.' Gene sighs, shaking his head. 'Don't even know what I expected, doubt you know what manners are, you bloody bastard.'

Sam almost laughs, though he decides against it at the last minute. Instead he says, 'That's rich, coming from you.'

The air's gone a bit hotter, it doesn't help that they're packed in so tight, and Sam's that level of annoyed that's leading him to want to fight – mostly to cover up that being sat so close to Gene, crammed in with no space between, has got him half-hard, uncomfortable in his trousers. He could slip right onto Gene's lap, and it wouldn't take much effort on his part.

There's not much to be done about either situation, which means he just has to sit tight. Shouting something would be crass, and doing something about his growing erection would get him time in a cell for lewd and lascivious behaviour in a public place. At least they wouldn't have to wait long on the police.

The food doesn't take long to make its appearance, a flat slab of steak for them both, potatoes dripping with gravy that's got even _more_ chunks of meat in it, and something he thinks might be some sort of vegetable... but just looking at it, he's not quite sure.

'What is this?'

'It's food,' Gene says as he swallows some of it down. 'Be a good girl and eat your dinner, Daphne.'

Just to spite Gene – and himself – Sam does. He gets halfway through the plate before he's starting to get full: the steak isn't too bad, the potatoes would have been better off without the meaty gravy, (who exactly would put chicken into their gravy and then serve it with _steak_? What would Nigella think of _that_?), and the pile of green things turned out to be sprouts.

'You come here often?' he asks, scraping the fork across the plate, scooping up more potatoes. 'Thought you didn't like eating alone.'

'You hear that crowd? Not alone when you eat here, Sammy-boy.'

'Right, whatever – '

There's a touch sliding down his side and he drops his fork from the sudden shock, the blunt pressure of Gene's fingers coming to rest across his leg, at his thigh. The fingers press, rub, and then press tighter. It's not like Sam's tight trousers leave much to the imagination anyhow, and Gene's fingers know just what they're getting up to.

'Guv.'

It's not a question. Sam doesn't know why Gene is doing what he's doing, and he doesn't really know how to ask. They're jammed into the booth, the place is packed, there's laughing and talking and _people_. It's true that no one is looking at them, but if they _did_ – he flinches as Gene rubs, presses with his palm, hand sliding, further and further down. His other hand is occupied with his mug of tea, though he holds off from taking a drink.

'S'alright?'

Sam, tight-throat, dry-mouthed, nods.

'Good.' Gene doesn't stop. 'Just trying something new. Novel, eh?'

It is. Sam bites at his lip, grips the edge of the table with both hands. After a dry length of nothing, this is a sudden explosion of too much, Gene just inches off feeling him up with them in a dangerously public place. A small part of Sam had thought Gene was sick of him in general, but the bigger part of him knew that couldn't be true. They'd backed down a notch, gone back to acting more like co-workers and sometimes mates, that co-workers who also happened to shag.

Gene keeps on whispering. 'Here I just hoped you'd like the atmosphere of the place, but you were getting hard before I even laid a hand on you, eh?'

Sam nods, the motion rough, jerky. 'You do that to me.' Even Sam's whispering, but that seems the best course.

'Don't get your knickers in a twist,' Gene mutters, still calm as anything else, sipping at his tea rather more loudly than would be his norm. 'Don't want them thinking anything is going on here, something to arouse suspicion.' No, the only arousing that's going on here is what Gene's doing to Sam, what Gene's closeness tends to do to him, _always_. Though, to be honest, the near-groping isn't helping. Should he reach out, feel him up as well? Sam's a bit out of sorts with the entire situation, half a breath from giggling in shock, and at a complete loss.

'Not at all,' he breathes out softly, holding onto his dignity with all the fervour he's put into clinging to the table.

'Just eat the rest of your dinner, Marjorie.'

Sam huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. 'Not _that_ good at multi-tasking, Guv. What... why...?' He'd almost been finished anyway, there's hardly any of the grease-laden stuff left.

'Making a point, is all.' A point, definitely – if he keeps it up then the point is going to come and go, emphasis on _come_. Sam's mouth goes dry, tongue flicking at his lips. He's going to groan, it's too much, Gene knows just what he's doing, and Sam can't take much more. He's trying to hide it, so is Gene, no one can _see_ , but knowing that doesn't help. 'I just want to know I've got your attention completely.' He sets his empty cup aside, rubs a bit more firmly. Sam bites back a whimper, opens his mouth to reply, immediately snapping it shut. What exactly would he _say_.

'I've been thinking.'

'Oh?' Sam can at least manage that.

'That you do matter, you bloody twonk. More than you should, and I shouldn't have to tell you, but there you have it.' The groping leaves off, Sam at a loss for words, of breath as well, but there's still an awkward erection straining in his trousers, threatening to poke a hole through his pants. Think unsexy thoughts, he tells himself, but for the life of him he can't imagine a one.

Sam shakes his head instead, focuses on breathing as he pries one hand free to wipe across his eyes. Gene goes on, voice low and steady beneath the roar of the room: 'I don't always know what to do with you, Sam. Being angry about it makes it easier. I know it's not right, and believe me when I tell you that I wish I could show these people what you do to me – make them understand what you mean to me.' Of course he's still whispering, though it doesn't lessen the impact of the words – how could it? It's too important, what Gene's chosen to say. The tension hasn't lightened, nor has the swelling. 

'Only that might get us lynched, at the very least. You've rubbed off on me, but I'm not that crazy.'

'You've been rubbing – ' Sam starts, voice cracking.

'Quiet,' Gene hisses, and Sam's mouth snaps shut. ' _Touch me_.'

Sam blinks, feeling dizzy. 'What?'

'You heard me,' and it's so low, and rough enough to be a growl.

In fact, Sam had heard what Gene had said, not that he'd known how to make sense of his words. Gene's hand is on his thigh now, hot, firm, but it's not moving. Sam eases one hand beneath the table, reaches for his own tea with the other. He slides his hand down Gene's arm, closing his eye as he sips at his drink. He stops, thinks about what he means to do, about what Gene's said. Sam reaches to the side, settling his hand down on Gene's thigh. There's a soft catch of breath, but when he looks sideways at Gene – as he takes another drink of his tea – Gene's untouched, as he ever is, just the faintest sheen of sweat. And you could always blame that on the tightly packed diner.

'Alright?'

Gene nods. Sam's hand slides, searching, groping over Gene's obvious erection. He lets out a shuddering breath, his hand shaking now, squeezing slowly. His ears are burning, he's melting from the inside out. Gene's hand isn't on his thigh now, it's squeezing his own, where Sam had already been squeezing Gene.

'You feel that?'

Sam nods, lips pressed to the edge of his tea cup.

'That's what you do to me. It's all yours, Sam. I'm all yours.'

He's dizzier now, nodding again. Gene lets him go, and Sam draws his arm back to his side, sets his tea cup down and presses both of his hands, palm down, against his legs.

'Finished?' Sam nods, breathes out slowly, needs to calm himself down. 'I'll pay.' He looks at Gene, nods once more, and the next thing he says, it's sure to be the right thing.

'Like a real date,' he mutters. Gene's eased away from him completely, gives him a steady look and then picks himself up out of his seat. Sam watches him amble off to pay, and he's left there with their dirty dishes and an annoyingly obvious erection. He envies Gene's camel-hair coat, from time to time – Sam's definitely envying it now. Even if Gene's hard, he's not limping, and the coat's there to hide anything too obvious – all in all, Gene's much better at this than Sam is. Sam's not surprised. Gene always looks untouched, after they've fought, after they've had sex.

Sam needs to catch up with the conversation, it's like he's missed something important. Is he still just stuck on what Gene's said to him, or is he more irritated that he'd been wound up and Gene's left him hanging? Does he need to go back over every small thing, and build it up from the ground again, make the evidence make sense? Gene hadn't just been happy to fondle him, he'd wanted Sam's hand on _him_. That means something. Something that's easy enough to miss, if you hadn't been looking for it. If he'd thought he'd been in a lose-lose situation, it's clear his luck has decided to change.

Like a real date... His mind blanks out completely when he tries imagining what it would be like to date Gene Hunt. He knows what he likes, and if Gene were willing – if Gene's really all _his_ – then he's certain he'd like to try.

Sam grabs his jacket and forces himself to stand, to try and hide his state, to not look like he's hobbling when he makes a straight line for the loo. Gene takes no time at all in paying, and then follows him inside. A line of urinals, and three stalls, and Gene beats on the middle door – the one Sam had been behind.

'Go away,' he mutters, trying to adjust himself.

'Don't make me break down this door – I'll make sure you're the one who pays for damages.'

Sam weighs his options and throws the latch, and Gene barrels his way inside, slamming the door and locking it in turn. 'You're a real bastard.'

'And you're about to get a blow job in the loo – new experience for you, Sammy-boy?' He's looming in, leering, and Sam feels hot and cold and _annoyed_ , and how exactly does that specific combination end up arousing him completely, time and time again? 'Cause it's a new one for me too.'

He cracks a grin, just the faintest one, as Gene's words leave him feeling _almost_ at ease.

–

Sam knows what this means: it means that Gene's sat on the closed toilet seat (you honestly don't think I'm kneeling on that bloody, nasty floor, do you?), hands kneading Sam's arse, guiding his motions as Sam rocks in time with Gene's mouth. It also means that, once Gene gets him home – whether to Sam's flat, or Gene's house, there's really no telling – Gene's going to bend him over whatever object happens to be most handy, and bugger him into next year. There's no other explanation. That's got to be why Gene's left his own hard-on untouched.

Too little touch... and now this. The footing isn't so completely unequal. There's been some give, and Sam's happy enough to take what's been offered. Sometimes he wonders if Gene listens to him at all, and yes, it's clear now, he does. Sam matters to him, and not just because he helps get Gene off. If Sam had thought Gene was perfectly happy with how things had been progressing, this changes everything.

They drive, Gene parks the car – it's going to be his house tonight, so at least they'll have access to a decent bed. If they even make it to the bed. Gene's fucked him in most of the rooms of his house, takes a particular fancy to having Sam suck him off in the kitchen. He's starting to think that Gene's mindset isn't as barbaric and as dead-set in its ways as Sam had first believed, given the little changes he's already witnessed. Maybe they'll get inside Gene's house and things will proceed as they normally do. Maybe he's not been surprised enough yet, because he could always be wrong.

First off, they need to get inside. Gene fumbles with the keys and Sam pushes up beside him, wishes it wasn't already so dark. There's a chill in the air, one that cuts right through his leather jacket. He runs his hands up and down his arms, tries to rub in some warmth.

Gene stops, turns, stares at him. 'What?'

The keys are dangling from his hand, he's forgotten about them for now. Gene lifts up his free hand, rests it at the back of Sam's head. 'Ge – ' It's smothered beneath the weight of Gene's kiss, the tongue that darts out to prise open Sam's mouth. Sam's caught off guard, but it passes in a moment. He opens his mouth to Gene's, pushes in closer.

There's so much heat in that kiss, Sam's warmer now than he'd been a moment before, sliding one arm around Gene's lower back. The only thing he can really focus on is the warmth and pressure of Gene's fingers, the slip and slide of their tongues. They've kissed like they've fought, but the gentleness is almost off putting. He doesn't quite know what to do with it, but he doesn't want it to stop.

It's Gene, instead, who stops, pulls back, and Sam blinks, relaxed and getting hard again. 'Guv.' Those fingers rub at the nape of his neck, slipping up, sliding back down. His own hands do some sliding of their own. One ends up clutching at Gene's coat, near to the small of his back. The other squeezes at Gene's own growing erection, left to wilt before they'd left the diner. Sam groans, and Gene hisses.

' _Sam_.'

He squeezes again, the way he had at the diner, and Gene's breath quickens. 'Still alright?'

Gene nods, eyes gone wide. 'I – good... Come on. Let's get inside,' Sam says, lifting his hand up to squeeze at Gene's hip instead. Sam's unsure as to what else _could_ have been said, but Gene doesn't seem to be offended, nodding instead.

'Fair enough,' is what he says, and they pull away from each other – too close again, too dangerous, when anyone who might be taking a night stroll could have seen them pressed up together. Gene has no issues in getting the door open, of gesturing for Sam to get on inside – as if to say, 'ladies first'.

Rolling his eyes, it's better to let it not get to him, for it to amuse him instead of annoy him. He's confused enough already, he doesn't need to complicate matters. That's really something, since complicating things is what he does best.

He takes his jacket off, and when the door closes Sam knows he's trapped inside. Not trapped – he could leave at any minute, he's here because he wants to be, it's always been a matter of choice. He wants to be here, be here with Gene. He wants it to matter to Gene the way it already matters to Sam. He already feels like they're going in the right direction. They can get there, they can do this, and in the process, they can get it right.

He hears rather than sees Gene move towards him, the weight of his hands coming to settle on Sam's shoulders, the nudge of his lips warm against Sam's neck. He tilts his head to the side, granting better access. Confused, and somewhat frightened – no, frightened isn't quite the right word. On the edge of his seat, even though he's still standing, and dizzy with anticipation. He's anxious, but it's exhilarating, like he's walked into some unknown wilderness by walking into Gene's home. It leaves him thinking of something Gene said, once before: it's like being drunk... on himself.

Gene's teeth nip at his ear lobe, tugging back before letting go. 'Drink?' he husks, and Sam nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Drinks – whisky in the kitchen, neither of them able to look at each other, not on the agonisingly long walk over, nor when they end up standing opposite in the kitchen itself. Sam drains his glass first, turns to watch Gene as he instead stares at his own, his gaze gone contemplating, watching the liquid swish about. The kitchen – shouldn't Gene have pushed him to his knees already? The lack of communication is really starting to get to him, an unreachable sort of itch, one that's taken up residence beneath his skin.

'Guv?' At least he can still speak.

'Hmm?' Doesn't look at him, keeps his attention focused on his glass instead.

'I... is something wrong?'

Gene purses his lips, brow drawn together in thought. 'Don't think so. I just... There's something I need to ask you, but I'm not sure how to do it.'

'Opening your mouth and just saying it would be a good place to start.'

Gene huffs out a laugh, half angry and half amused. He's looking at Sam now, which already makes it better. 'Don't make me hit you.'

'Maybe I want you to hit me.'

That really gets Gene's attention. He puts his glass to the side, stands up tall, stares down at Sam – why does that look make Sam feel so _small_. 'After all the bloody hell you've been giving me? Why do you keep lying to me, Sam?'

It's a double-edged question, and Sam's just as aware of the edge as Gene is. He shrugs, backs up against the edge of the worktop, feels it digging in. He doesn't think Gene would accept it if he offered up _coping mechanism_ as the answer. Maybe that would be easier to swallow than _extensive head trauma, you get that when you've been in a coma_ , but that might bring up questions of the life he gave up back in 2006 – the life that, as far as Gene is concerned, was a prim and proper place called Hyde. 'Don't think I mean to, guess it just keeps happening on its own. I wouldn't just take it, you know.'

Gene shoves his glass against the worktop, it spirals out into nothing before crashing to the ground. Sam doesn't flinch, just watches the small explosion of glass and whisky – at least neither of them had been in the way.

'Fuck,' Gene growls, mostly below his breath. They don't say anything. Sam knows where the broom and dust pan are, so he fetches them both. When he gets back with them, Gene's mopped up some of the mess with a flannel from the sink, but there's still a ring of broken glass.

Sam sweeps it up, doesn't say a thing. Gene's just as quiet. He chucks the cloth in the bin, and Sam empties out the tray, turns away to put them back up.

'Look at me,' Gene snaps, and Sam – without hesitation – stops, and turns around, not hesitating as he makes eye contact. Gene's not hesitating, either, not as he strides towards Sam, purposeful and magnificent. Sam's eyes widen, and this time, it's definitely not fear. It's just amazement.

'Guv, I...'

Gene snatches the broom up and the dust pan, shoves them to the side, doesn't care when they clatter to the ground. They're pressed close again, as close as they'd been on the front steps, one of Gene's hands at his shoulder, the other sliding up round the curve of his neck. He's staring down, searching for something, and maybe it's just one of those things that manage to exist without having a proper name attached it.

'I...'

All Sam really knows is that Gene, this close, this intense, is thrilling. It gets his blood humming in his veins, it reminds him how much he wants this man – how much he wants them to work out. No, he hadn't wanted to end this. If it's up to Sam, there's never going to be an _end_.

He starts up, stops, shakes his head. Frustrated, perhaps just as confused as Sam.

'No need to hurry,' Sam mutters, his voice choked, constricted. It's the sudden tightness of the air in the kitchen, the warmth of Gene's body, so close, so hot, the smell of the whisky as it shoves its way up his nose – how it makes it obvious that something is about to happen: how Sam expects him to start manhandling him about at any second now, throw him over something, or just push him down. Only, that doesn't happen. Gene just looks at him, and nothing even kind of like manhandling ends up happening.

'I... I'm asking for something big here, I know I am. You always ask for too much, you expect the world of me, and... I'd give it you, if I could. So...' Gene draws himself up to his full height, even more magnificent. '...I'm gonna go through with it. You can't stop me.'

What _Gene_ expects? Sam's own expectations are all flying out the window, even if they'd been Gene's expectations in the first place, because this isn't all proceeding the way it normally does.

Sam nods, because he doesn't know what to say, and Gene turns his head away, breathes out a sigh. 'Good start, I suppose. I...' His grip tightens, at Sam's shoulder, at his neck, and Sam reaches up to steady himself against Gene's frame, grabbing for his hip, for his arm.

'I'm not gonna try and stop you.'

He leans in, close, closer, Gene's fringe brushing against his forehead. 'Sam, I...'

Another lump in his throat, and even more difficult to swallow down. He's on pins and needles here, his mouth is dry, the refrigerator starts humming, doing its best to distract. Sam needed it – his eyes were starting to sting, he's hanging by a thread now, high on expectation. Where exactly is Gene going with this? Why isn't he there already?

'Gene, I – '

'I need you to fuck me, Sam – can you do that for me?'

It's another definite line they've just tripped over, and Sam's left reeling, just like he was before. There's no mincing of words, not when Gene Hunt chooses to speak, but Sam still can't believe what he's heard. 'What?' He eases back, still caught up in their embrace, only knowing he needs to get a better look at the whole of Gene's face. Sam's never seen him look _frightened_ like this, like he knows he's gone and said the wrong thing. Timid isn't the right word, but there's expectation – he thinks he'll be rejected. The way Sam thought he'd be rejected when he first thought it was such a bloody brilliant idea to go and kiss his homophobic boss. Of course, Gene had been the one to kiss _him_. Gene's wanted this from the start, even if the start had been a mess. With Gene looking at him, _wanting_ him, and Sam unable to turn a blind eye to it.

It was a mess, it still _is_ a mess, and it might always be one. Sam's only seeing that now that they've made it to the end. The end? No, this is a turning point, a fork in the road. What he says next could build new worlds, or break them all down.

Either way it goes, look how well it's already worked out?

'Gene, I...'

Green eyes narrow in irritation, the sharp flash of his teeth as he growls. 'Do I need to repeat myself?' There, a different sort of spark, the familiar heat of anger, something Sam can and always will be able to work with. Gene squeezes him, as vice-like as ever, and Sam's tail-spinning downwards, right back into himself. This isn't happening, this never could happen, only it has and the reality of it has left Sam stunned, bordering on senseless. Gene shifts about, _nervous_ , like he's asked something he desperately needed to, and just as desperately longs to take it back. Wanting something and hating it at the same time. Sam's familiar enough with that. That's what makes it so easy for Sam to make up his mind. He's got plenty of experience with life-changing choices, after all.

'Okay,' he says, and means it.

Gene gives a little huff, pulls him closer, needy and on edge. He gets crushed in Gene's hug, and for a few seconds, it hurts to breathe. 'That easy, Sammy-boy?' Gene asks, at least when he's loosened his hold.

Sam nuzzles his face up into the crook of Gene's neck, swipes with his tongue, feels the judder of Gene's groan given in return. He gives Gene's neck another lick, long, slow, pleased with the salt of it, the realness of it. 'Yep.'

'Dangerous, Sammy-boy, how bloody dangerous...' But he groans again as Sam nips at his shoulder, bites down with his shirt caught between tooth and skin. 'How's it you're... you're the crazy little moth that's always drawn to... to the fire?'

'Must live for it,' he mutters in reply, pressing a kiss to the same spot, admires the growing wet spot on the blue-grey cloth. He's still stumbling forward, mentally at least, but he's starting to get his bearings. It does matter, Gene _does_ want it to work. Sam knows where to go from this. 'Guess that just makes you the flame.'

But they're both smiling as they pull away from each other, untwine, when Gene reaches out to grab his hand, press tightly like he needs the support. Maybe he does. This is outside his area of expertise – Gene has no idea what he's asking for. It's a massive offer that's been made, the sort of thing Sam just didn't think Gene _did_. But he wants it – he wants it and he's made an offer. He's caught between himself, uncharacteristically demure flush against his more typical gruff anger. It's breathtaking.

Sam has to do this right.

'Another drink?'

Gene shakes his head. The kitchen's grown smaller and smaller, the empty spaces reduced to nothing, and them pushing in on each other. 'Just want to get this done and over with.'

Sam hesitates, squeezes Gene's hand. 'If it's not something you want to do...' The moment passes, and he tugs Gene towards the kitchen door, they need to be on the move. 'You can bend me over the end of the sofa if you'd rather – '

Gene growls, squeezes his hand even more tightly in return. 'It's not that – I can dish it out, I can bloody well take it. I just...' He lapses into silence, internalises his fears. 'It's just hard, that's all. Don't think you'd understand it, seeing how you're the nancy little fairy-boy.'

Sam stops completely, growing more and more annoyed. 'I've never had a boyfriend before, remember? I'm new at this too – and we've managed the technical side of things rather well, don't you think? Figured out what we needed to figure out. Helps that I've read a few books on the subject...' He almost sighs. Does he ever miss google.

'Bit of spit does wonders,' Gene mutters, looking away.

Sam smirks, recalls his own words, given at the start of things. 'Yeah, it does. Hey – look at me.'

His hand on Gene's cheek, Sam guides his gaze back to him, stares at him, eye to eye. 'Good – now, before we really get started, I... how do you want it?'

Gene snorts as he laughs, and it seems bloody forced. 'I'd honestly just like for you to bugger me, do you have to make it any more complicated than that?'

This time Sam growls, just as frustrated – of course he has to complicate it, Gene's given him everything but _nothing_ , all in one move. The annoyance is tempered almost immediately – for the second time n, Gene's not spoken against him being called Sam's boyfriend. Gene might not be good at asking for what he wants, or telling Sam what he needs, but Sam's clever enough to figure it out. If Gene's mouth doesn't want to tell him, there's the rest of his body that Sam's got to work with.

'Come on,' he squeezes Gene's hand, presses his face up close, brushes a kiss across Gene's lips. 'Let's get upstairs.'

Gene nods, seems choked up. When he speaks, his voice has gone husky. 'Whatever you want.'

Nothing else gets said. Sam switches the lights off behind them, and Gene's the first one up the stairs. If he didn't know what was awaiting him, then this might seem like any other, normal night – well, it's hardly typical, seeing as how they tend to fight their way into bed more than anything else. There's been nights where they've both been too tired for that, when it wasn't that level of physicality they'd been aiming for. Why is Sam only thinking of that now?

Because when you're frustrated you only see what you want to see. He'd been like that at the tail-end of the Rogers-Richards case, blinded by unreasonable thought. He wanted something to change and he would have torn it all down, wanting just that.

Gene puts the light on in the bedroom, gets to undressing right away. Sam, however, stands by the door and watches him. Sat on the edge of the bed, Gene notices the look, tilts his head back and scowls.

'Get your kit off, Gladys.'

Sam grins. 'In a minute.' He's got a plan, but first off, he saunters over to Gene and lays his hands down on those familiar broad shoulders. Blinking, Gene tilts his head back, scowls up at him.

'Sam – '

Sam tilts his head slightly, bends down, brushes his mouth against Gene's. There's a shudder – a deep one, running all the way through him – and it makes Sam tighten the hold he has on him. He really has got a good grip on things now – he has to be careful, can't let it slip.

'Sam...'

Sam licks at his lips, and then sinks into a kiss. Gene doesn't even reach out to hold onto him, and slowly, almost without him noticing, Sam's hands fall away from where they'd been gripping at Gene's shoulder, fingers wound up in his shirt. He pulls back, and there's a heavy pause between them – hesitation in Gene's eyes, heat on his cheeks – and Sam smiles, because he's certain Gene is blushing from head to toe.

'Just let me go get the shower ready.'

Gene opens his mouth, confusion apparent. 'What – '

'We're doing this my way, Gene – get undressed. Gotta get clean before we get dirty again, it's better that way.' He doesn't really know what he's doing, but Gene doesn't need to know that Sam's making this up as they go along. Picking the choices he thinks will suit them best. This has to be different, and not just because it already _is_. He flashes a grin and turns around, though at Gene's annoyed huff he glances back at him, narrowly avoiding the loafer Gene had chucked his way. It thunks against the wall behind him, and Gene's left frowning at him.

'Whatever you want.' He could get used to Gene saying that, though not what follows: 'I can tell already that this is a bloody mistake.' Still, for all he's said, the frown doesn't really reach his eyes.

It almost doesn't stop him from hurrying to get undressed. Gene's really feeling it, _vulnerable_ , it shows in everything he says and does – he's going to hide it behind anger and sarcasm, just the way that Sam would. They're really a whole lot alike, at least on one very basic level – even though, in general, they're complete opposites. But Gene's made the offer, and he's sticking to it. For as much as it's stripped him bare, he's not giving into that fear.

Because hiding it is always easier than admitting to said fear, even Sam knows that. All he has to do is show Gene there's nothing to be afraid of, nothing they can't get up to in the privacy of their – well, of Gene's – own home. Take it slow, do it right.

He puts the light on in the bathroom, switches on the radiator. The water's heating up by the time he starts shedding his own clothing, hears Gene rustling about in the bedroom. This is the right thing to do, he knows it is – he can finally show Gene just how good he makes Sam feel, by making sure he himself succeeds in making _Gene_ feel that good. If Gene ever wants it rougher than that, hard, _merciless_ , they can work up to it. Baby steps, first.

'Oi.'

He leans against the bathroom door's frame, watches Gene on the bed. Still sitting there, only now he's absolutely naked, his head in his hands. 'Told you, Gene – I'll switch the water off. If you'd rather just...'

He's disappointed, but it's not an issue he can push. If Gene doesn't want it, then Gene doesn't want it. There's no pulling rank on him – rank that Gene would deny – and make him do it, because Sam doesn't want to have to _make_ Gene do it. He doesn't think the power play thing would work that way, with Sam throwing his weight around and Gene just accepting it. No, it just wouldn't work that way – Sam has to figure out _how_ it will, and that's the trick. Letting this chance slip away from him would be like admitting some sort of defeat.

This time at least, he can't admit defeat. Gene wants to want this more than he _doesn't_ want to want it, and that's – for right now – the most important thing.

Only Gene shakes his head, lowering his hands. His cheeks are burning, his gaze is so _intense_ , that Sam's voice catches in his throat – what was he going to say? 'No – I want this. Oh bloody hell... look at you.' He swallows thickly, stands up, awkwardly so, like he doesn't quite know what to do with his own body anymore. He's standing before Sam before he's able to think twice, hands running down Sam's arms, their chests nearly touching. 'Bloody hell, just... look at you.'

'Nothing you've not seen before,' Sam replies, voice low. It's nothing Sam's not seen either, and how exactly did Gene end up as his type, he'll really never know. He asks himself that a lot, but the appeal is staring him right in the face. He's something to look at, all man, all _gorgeous_. Sam doesn't know how Gene does it – it almost doesn't make sense.

Gene huffs out a small laugh, lowers his gaze. 'True enough, I suppose. But still... never gets old.'

'Were you thinking that the day you were shagging me into the shelves?'

Another laugh, somewhat more cheery. 'Yep.'

'What about... you know... in the stall?' He glances up, halfway apprehensive – is he trying to look _coy_?

Gene's grin is wide, full of mirth. 'There as well.'

Sam smiles, presses his fingers to Gene's cheeks, revels in the compliant heat of his skin. 'Come on,' he says, and kisses him – long, and slow, and deep, the sort of kissing they don't normally allow themselves the luxury of. Something that the kiss at the front step had aimed for, but hadn't quite reached. There's never room for it, there's never _time_. Gene likes to give it out fast, hard, as intense as anything else he does. Sam's hands run down to Gene's shoulders, and Gene's greedy mitts slide down his back to squeeze his arse. His way – Sam needs to make sure this gets done his way, even though he's not quite sure what that means.

Sam laughs into Gene's mouth, and then they're pulling apart. 'Shameless tart,' he says, and Gene grins – Gene's called him that, before, a variety of other dirty little names following suit. Sam can't help it – when he's gagging for it, he's really gagging for it, and there's never been any reason for him to deny Gene's ability to get results. Right now, all he wants is all of Gene. Sam's already given the whole of himself over completely.

'Come on, water'll get cold.'

Gene nods. They stop speaking for a while, Sam pulling Gene into the shower, water pelting down on bare skin, everything steaming up when the shower curtain gets pulled closed. Sam shivers, only then Gene's offering him the soap, making it all seem so normal, and they take turns of using the bar to lather each other up as well. Normal – isn't that what this is? Sam could get used to it, like he could get used to some other things – he's already got used to so much more.

Sam's not shared a shower with another person in a very long time. It hadn't been the sort of thing that Maya felt comfortable with, so he missed out on it there, and he hadn't dated Annie long enough for that sort of intimacy to happen. Dating Gene – is this what it's like, dating Gene Hunt? His thoughts fall back a moment: right, after everything else he's got used to already, he can definitely get used to the idea of dating Gene Hunt.

He shivers as Gene's hands run across him, drags his nails across wet skin in turn, positioning themselves and orbiting each other, letting the water wash off all the soap. Gene moans, and Sam smiles, and the perfect follow up seems to be him pushing Gene up against the wall. Gentle, he can do gentle – he'll work up to showing Gene just how rough he can be, if that's what they both need. That might be too much, right now – not when Gene is feeling vulnerable already, he wouldn't want to spook him. Slow, worshipful instead, and Gene should eat that right up.

'Sam,' Gene mutters, water dripping down his lashes, his eyes tightly closed. Still smiling, Sam presses up against him, feels wet skin moulding together, their cocks nudging at each other. He nuzzles a kiss at Gene's shoulder, licks at the water, licks another line up the curve of his throat. 'All this fooling about, we...' His breath catches, Sam's hands sliding south. 'Really should just get on with it, eh?'

Does he honestly just want it over with as soon as possible? He could, because then they could get back to normal, what Gene's most familiar with – of him pulling Sam apart, not Sam trying to be the one who's wanting to take apart _him_ , bit by trembling bit.

It won't happen so easily. Whether Gene's even aware of it completely, this is the start of an even playing field between them. The game of give and take is developing a few more rules, and these ones are Sam's.

Don't be afraid, he'd like to say, only he's sure that would get him knocked over, head cracked open on porcelain, not to mention the thorough beating that would follow when Gene dragged him out onto the tiled floor. Maybe it is fear, but Sam won't get anywhere by pointing it out – Gene wouldn't appreciate it, the way he wouldn't appreciate so many other little things.

No, he nuzzles another kiss up along Gene's jaw, Gene leaning his head back to give better access. He wants this, it's clear he does, and all Sam has to do is give it to him. First off, he has to figure out what that really means. 'It's alright,' he says, and Gene accepts that – it isn't quite the same thing.

'Hmm,' Gene murmurs, and it's nearly a warm hum.

The slip of his hands, a little bit further down, the familiarity of Gene's flesh wet against his own, a specific, silky heat, evident beneath all that rushing water. Sam gives Gene's arse a firm squeeze. 'Not in any hurry, here. Sorry if that's not what you want, but we're doing this my way, remember?'

He grins as Gene groans, and carefully – very carefully – eases down onto his knees. The bathtub really isn't as wide as it could be, but it's definitely much better than what Sam has access to back at his flat. He keeps a hand on one arse cheek to steady himself, grabs at the root of Gene's half-hard cock with the other, gives a little tug. 'You're magnificent,' he whispers against wet flesh, swipes a broad lick across the tip. Gene shudders, flesh quivering. He's got a thorough mouthful of the stuff, and it's not like it's the first time he's ever given Gene head.

He knows there's something different about it, as his mouth sinks down and he takes in as much as he can. They're equally adept at sucking cock: should Sam have complimented him that day in Lost and Found? He certainly hadn't at the diner... would that have been a social faux pas? Gene would definitely hit him for letting a French phrase anywhere _near_ his dick.

He doesn't know what happens with Gene's other hand, but one of them ends up in Sam's wet hair, knotting tightly, tugging on him, pulling harder when Sam does something he particularly likes.

'Sam,' Gene groans, gives a minute thrust of his hips, the head of his cock bumping into the back of Sam's throat. He nearly gags, takes it all in slowly, and the sounds Gene's making show his clear and obvious enjoyment. He's trembling, revelling in the attention to detail that Sam is so thoroughly paying to his cock. Lick, and suck, and stroke, rubbing at the delicate skin of his balls, flesh pulled taut – pull off when he thinks that Gene's getting too near, give them both a moment to breathe. Those moments are almost always accompanied by a muttered, 'bastard prick, don't stop', and Sam smiles with a full mouth.

This is good, definitely the right place to start, down on his knees where he's meant to be, even though Gene's offer throws all their previous expectations to the side. The shower was a good idea, Gene's groaning and relaxed. Sam squeezes him once more, then runs that hand down the back of Gene's leg, up again, up. He feels Gene tensing as he starts to press his fingers along the crack of his arse, and they both freeze up.

'No,' Gene groans, and that's it, that's the end of it, at least until he groans once more, low and shivering. 'Go on.'

Gene sounds as torn as how Sam feels, but Sam presses on, sucks harder and pushes one finger deeper into that tight ring of flesh. More tensing, Gene's whole body trembling, and Sam eases off Gene's prick to lick at the slit of the tip. 'Relax,' he says, and presses a kiss to the straining flesh, takes it all back in. That must do the trick, the combination of Sam's wet mouth and his quiet command, because as Gene groans and shoves his hips forward, he lets go, and comes in Sam's mouth.

Sam eases back, sucks at the tip, and as Gene moans and tightens the hold in his hair, Sam feels his cheeks heat. 'Fuck, Sam,' Gene groans, reflexively pumping his hips, always giving all he's got. 'What you do to me.'

He's half out of it, edging towards bliss, and Sam sucks harder on the tip before letting Gene's limp cock go completely, popping free of his mouth. Now he can look up, study Gene's expression as Sam continues working that finger in. 'Not too much?'

Gene grimaces, forces out a quick laugh. 'Bloody hell, need _more_. Sam.'

Why not? The water's turning to ice, rivers of it running down his back. Sam grins, knows he must look like an idiot and doesn't half care. 'Come on then.' He wiggles his finger experimentally, then pulls it free. Before he knows it, Gene's helping him to his feet.

'Come here, you bastard,' Gene groans, wraps arms about him and pulls him close. Sam gets crushed to Gene's chest, his mouth ravaged by Gene's tongue, his erection trapped helplessly between their bodies. He gets a good hold on Gene in return, icy water splashing down his back. Shivering, Sam humps against Gene to gain some sort of leverage, Gene's hands once again sliding down to get a good grip on his arse.

Hasn't Sam been the one who needed to get a grip, all along?

'Gene – '

He's panting, he's hot, he needs to get on with it – the slow burn he'd been happy to go along with is erupting into too much heat, it's running through him, and Sam's running wild. 'I trust you,' Gene murmurs, brushes a kiss at his cheek, another one, back at his lips. 'I trust you, Sam.'

And that's just it. Sam nods, yanks away from him – it's a surprise that Gene even lets him go. 'Okay.'

Gene gives a small smile, the turmoil in his eyes grown more distant, though Sam still sees the shadows of the beast, lurking around the edges. Sam turns the water off, and they both promptly get out of the old bathtub, dripping water all over the tiled floor. There's frantic towelling off that doesn't last long, their hair still sodden and their bodies shivering, damp. Sam takes Gene by the hand and tugs him back towards the bed.

Gene pulls back, stops them both in their tracks. 'How do you want to do this?'

Isn't that the sort of thing that Sam would normally be asking? Hadn't he tried asking something along those lines earlier that night? Try as he might, Sam's not clear on the details. 'Pull the covers back first. I'll fetch the lube.'

Gene huffs out a soft laugh, and Sam lets go of his hand. 'Yes, sir.'

He does that, and Sam stands back and watches him. 'Turn on the bedside light – better atmosphere than with the overhead on.' Gene raises an eyebrow at him, and Sam shakes the tube of lube at him admonishingly. 'We're doing this my way, Hunt.'

'Right, or not at all.'

The bedside light switches on, the overhead goes off. Gene pushes the door closed, and turns around, leans back against it. 'What next?'

'Get on the bed.'

Rolling his eyes, Gene pushes away from the door.

'On your back – arse at the edge.' Gene gives him a look, and the sudden rush is calming down, leaving him feeling cool and mostly collected. 'I want to see your face, plus, you've got really long legs. I don't know how else this might work.' He could have asked him to get on his hands and knees, but no, he likes this idea a whole lot better. He _needs_ to be able to see Gene's face.

'Fine, whatever.'

Gene flops down onto the bed, rolls over. He wiggles a bit as he gets himself in position, and Sam's mouth goes dry all over again, just staring at him: at Gene, legs splayed wide, open and vulnerable, waiting for him, _aching_ for him. Oh fuck, this is really happening. He's squeezing the lube so tightly, it's a miracle it didn't just pop. If the cold had withered his erection at all, it's sprung back up completely, painfully so.

'Hurry up.'

It's Sam's turn to huff out a laugh. He's hot now, he's all but sweating, he's achingly hard and he wants to make sure he does this right, all at the same time. He'd been aiming for gentle, caught up in a rush of bliss, and now it's slowing back down again – he wants to be here for this completely. He wants that for the both of them.

'Wish you could see yourself,' he murmurs, moving towards Gene. What a silly reason for him to miss his mobile phone, but he does so, poignantly so – wait, have Polaroid cameras come out yet? He needs to check. 'You're really gorgeous, you know that? Still haven't quite figured out what made you my type, just...' Sam shakes his head, loses the train of his words. 'I definitely like what I see.'

How does that make Gene feel, Sam advancing on him? He always makes Sam feel like some sort of prey, only now Gene's the one who's laid out, anticipating. He's got to be anticipating it, right?

It's clear he is, as Sam moves closer. The way he's braced his feet against the floor, the way his fingers are digging into the sheet, how he's almost too pale – no more trembling, just Gene holding himself perfectly still, his breathing careful and controlled. He closes his eyes, leans his head back. He's giving his all to Sam right now, and he doesn't know what Gene thinks about it – what he really feels – but Sam at least knows it's so much more than skin and sex.

'You're really something,' he says, staring down at Gene, the wide expanse of his skin. There's enough room left at the edge of the bed for him to lean his knees into, steady himself. He gives Gene a once over, ends up eyeing the fresh pre-cum leaking from the tip of his cock, swelling with its need. Had it been that long already – long enough. He slides his hands up, then down, Gene shivering in anticipation beneath him.

'Fuck,' he groans, shaking his head. 'Come on, Sam. You... you really don't... make it easy on a bloke, do you?'

Sam grins, goes about slicking up his fingers, leaning in closer to kiss a line down Gene's throat, slow, steady, effortlessly gentle. 'Come on, told you already... never had a boyfriend.' Gene makes a noise, down low, quietly needy. 'But for firsts, you're bloody perfect.'

Next is a low sigh, almost a laugh, fluttering out softly. Gene groans and shifts upwards as Sam slides his slick hand down about his dick, grips it tight. Sam knows he's on the edge of something vast and unknown, and he's not sure if he's ready to proceed. No, of course he is – it's what he's been aiming for all along. In Gene's mind, there's nothing that could state that he does in fact see Sam as his equal more than this. To him, the act of penetrating is given to the one who's in control. He knows that there's more to sex than just 'Tab A Goes Into Slot B' – they've done enough of it, after all, hand-jobs and blow-jobs just being a few examples – but this is _it_. For Gene, this is the act that precludes all others.

'Just tell me if I need to stop.'

He's aware of Gene's wordless reply, the tight heat of his body surrounding him as Sam eases in with one slick finger. He says nothing, waiting on a breath, a word, a shift to show Gene's displeasure – and yet, while his jaw tenses, Gene doesn't tell him _no_. Two fingers, then, hesitating in giving too much, all once – he murmurs beneath his breath as Gene's body tightens around him. 'Relax, Guv.'

The low huff of Gene's laugh, that close to a moan. 'Not your Guv right now.'

'You'll always be my Guv.'

His mouth is open, perhaps to snap a witty retort, only sense is stolen away as Gene gives a low groan. 'Fuck,' he mutters, and when he closes his eyes, Sam stops. 'What the bollocksing bloody hell do – '

' _My_ way, Gene – we're doing this _my_ way.' He doesn't normally use that tone with Gene, and Gene knows it – that's the one he used to use when he was admonishing his subordinates, a lifetime ago, and decades away. 'Look at me.'

Gene's eyes pop open, that intent green glare. 'Sam, if you don't – '

' _Look at me_.'

Gene's gone perfectly tense, rigid as stone. 'Bloody hell – '

'You look at me, or I'm stopping, and we're never attempting this again. I need to know you're here with me, Gene – it's important.' Same rank, not that Gene would ever believe him. When Sam wants to get another officer's attention, he knows just what tone of voice needs to be used. He'd nearly forgot he had it in him, but Gene's looking at him now, so it's clear that it's worked – a bloody miracle, Sam really asking for it, but it _worked_.

'Fuck,' Gene growls, eyes wide and bright, still angry, still hot for it. 'Just get on with it, you bloody fairy nonce!'

Sam doesn't laugh in Gene's face, swallows that mad urge. 'Pot, meet kettle – you're looking a little bit black.'

'You – '

Sam presses in with a third finger, twists them about, and Gene's flash of anger turns to a low moan, even as he snarls, twists about on the sheets. 'Gonna kill you,' he mutters, trembling, sweat slick on his brow, a bead of it rolling down his nose. 'Let me up, I'm going to kill – nngh. Oh bloody fucking hell. Hurry up, Sam, just hurry it up!'

His head falls back, eyes shut, the tumble of his fringe looking oddly deflated. He huffs out a laugh, but even that is low, beaten and worn out. 'Never mind that, don't stop.'

Sam breathes out a low chuckle, withdraws, and that new surge of anger is quickly overcome, accompanied by a shuddering groan. 'Jesus Christ, Sam. I... well – for that... s'better, I suppose.' He's edging towards delirious, Sam can hear it in his voice, see it arranged in the fragmented chaos that plays out in the pattern of his words. It's fascinating, and as Sam runs his hands down to grab at Gene's legs, he can't take his eyes off his face.

'You suppose?' He starts to push his way in, steadies himself with one hand.

A nod, Gene's legs tensing beneath his hands, the whole of his body going rigid with need. 'Oh bloody hell, I'm absolutely... fuck... completely... _sure_.' The moment snaps apart as Gene turns his head away, when Sam goes absolutely still, half-sank into him, wanting so much to just drive in, let the wild run through him. Do it, Sam, don't let him get away – you can do this. You both can. As though it were something important – but it is, isn't it?

'Look at me – Gene. Come on, I know you can do it.'

'Being a bit of a... a bastard right now... aren't you?'

'And I'm loving every second of it. Gene, come on – please.'

The tension is palpable. Sam trembles, feels the tremor run through his body, the way it makes him ache. 'Come on,' he says again, bent and broken by this desire – to do this right, to make it work – and he lets out a ragged breath as Gene turns to face him, a dark smoulder in his eyes. Sam feels a smile spread on his lips, and he pushes forward and sinks in completely, Gene's eyes going wider as he arches up into the sudden thrust.

'Good?'

Gene blows his breath out, slowly. 'Good,' Sam says again, no question this time. 'Just keep your eyes on me, okay – we'll get through this together.'

Sam deserves that glare, and when Gene opens his mouth to snarl out a reply, Sam doesn't give him a chance to speak – he draws out and then slams himself back in, Gene's eyes gone even wider, fingers knotting in the sheets. 'Oh fuck! Jesus Christ, _Sam_!'

'Better?'

'Just _get on with it_ ,' Gene breathes out in a rush, and Sam does – finally giving into that urge, that pressure. He could lose himself in the tightness, in the heat, in the way he pants and Gene groans, but Sam's attention is still locked on Gene's face – he can't lose himself completely, not while he's looking at Gene. He watches the emotion that flickers across Gene's face, pleasure and rage, an internal push and pull, shatter and it all falls down. It's breathlessly amazing, watching him react, the way his body moves, tightens further. Slick sweat beneath his hands, nails digging deeper to keep a better hold, stay with the thrust of it. Give it to him, hard, _harder_ , let him know you're just as good at this as he is. He wants to kiss him, but he can't do that and look at him at the same time – not like this. Next time, perhaps.

Gene's cursing and groaning and Sam's not even sure what he's saying – 

The next he's perfectly aware, Gene's gone quiet, still beneath him – there's something sticky, damp, splattered against his stomach – and Sam's breathing so hard, the blood rushing in his ears, he feels like he's about to pop – again. He needs to sit down, no, lay down, he needs to never move again. He doesn't think an orgasm has ever quite taken him by that sort of force, only hadn't he already thought that recently? This time, he's definitely been left feeling weak in the knees.

'Oh my God.'

Gene chuckles as Sam, trembling, pulls away, only to immediately move forward, collapse atop him. 'Don't get used to that,' Gene mutters, wrapping his arms around him. Sam huffs out a laugh of his own, presses his forehead to Gene's cheek, shakes his head, wetness smearing between them.

'I'll try not to.'

Nothing else gets said, not for another minute – just heavy breathing, Sam trying to calm down, the weight of Gene's arms holding him in place, keeping him secure. He shivers – his arse is getting cold, and after all that heat.

'Messy.'

'Getting cold.'

'Felt good,' they say at the same time, and after a moment's pause, thick with tension, they both burst out laughing, helpless and weak. The bad mood that has tried to insinuate itself into the afterglow flees as they laugh, and Sam's not felt this warm, this _right_ , about anything and everything, in a very long time.

Gene grinds Sam against him, and Sam rains kisses down on Gene's face, Gene's arms running up and down his back, rubbing that heat into his skin. They find their way back up to each other's mouths, kiss again and again. He can breathe now, he didn't mess it all up – how exactly can you mess up sex? As long as Gene came, he'd not be likely to complain. Still, as Sam looks at Gene, he sees how _touched_ he is, his skin all but glowing, his hair a wild mess. Sam wants to keep touching him, to kiss him again, to make it something that lasts. To make sure Gene's left thinking the right thing.

First off, he needs to say something – as soon as he figures out _what_.

'Was it too much?'

Gene gives him an oddly contemplative look, shakes his head. 'Is it ever too much?'

Sam pauses. Is Gene asking him what he's thinking he is? He decides to answer him as if he were, and see where Gene goes with it. 'No – I like it when you're rough. I like it when you call me dirty names. It's because I trust you. Because l...' He bites at his lip. Gene's still got him held tight in his arms, that wet place between them starting to grow cool. 'Because I love you.'

'That so?' Gene hesitates. 'Knew you did – are you sure that's such a good idea?' There's trouble brewing, Sam can hear it in Gene's words.

'Dunno,' and that makes Sam laugh, sharp and abrupt, even as anxiety clenches at his gut, because he's finally done it, he's said too much, and he'll have ruined him and Gene the way he always ruins these things. By wanting too much, or saying too little, it always ends the same way. Maya, and Annie, and any other other girlfriend he's ever had. It always ends the same.

'Maybe it's not, but emotions aren't exactly the most rational of things, and then when you couple it with humans and... and we're kind of all screwed. You fall in love and everything changes, it's not always for the best. Changes the world, changes the people involved.'

'And we both know how you like acting like a self-righteous, rational twonk.'

'Your pillow talk is as gentle and effective as ever. I'm getting really hard here.'

'Bloody hell, give us a moment to rest, Gladys,' Gene laughs, closes his eyes. With a slow shake of his head, eyes snapping back open, he snorts out an abrupt laugh, one that rolls through Sam's body. They clutch at each other as they both end up laughing, only stopping when they've both gone breathless.

'Didn't mean it badly.' Gene adds, at least once he can.

Sam nods, blinking twice. 'I... yeah, I know.'

He's left feeling somewhat self-conscious – Gene's not really said anything in return – but Sam gives that thought a push to the side. It doesn't really matter. They both seem to be happy, what more could he ask for? Gene's not shoved him out of his bed, out of his life – well, if he did, wouldn't it make things awkward at work? No, but he _has_ looked away – is the game still on? Could he demand Gene look at him again, stay focused? Or has that moment burned itself out, not completely, but at least for now?

'Gene...'

He doesn't say anything else, and Gene doesn't seem to have an answer for him, though he has turned back to look at Sam instead of the nothingness across from the bed. For a minute, they stare at each other, touching each other gently, fingers tracing out the lines of each other's bodies. Gene's receptive, and it makes Sam want to smile.

There's something tight in his throat, choking him, fear and regret, like he's lost it all already. He wants to push it away, but it's too insistent. There's something else that wants to be said, and it won't be denied.

'I don't want this to end.'

More silence, Gene thinking it over, only then when Sam knows it's too late, Gene shatters all his expectations with a nod. 'Suppose that means I'll have to keep trying,' he says, drawing back. He brushes the backs of his fingers across Sam's cheek, rolling them over onto their sides, oddly tender as he finally looks Sam in the face. He's not good at this, and maybe Sam's not either, but he's had a lot of practise with letting his relationships go pear-shaped – well, Gene's divorced. So has he.

'And maybe I'm no good at saying it, but.... but, well.' He frowns. Trying – he really must be trying. Sam, however, nods, kisses Gene's cheek. His brow is furrowed, his mouth opened, he's trying to force the words out but no good will come of that. There's trying, and there's trying too much. Sam's been given a lot already – he can hold out on everything else, and the world.

'I get what you mean,' and there's no hiding just how happy it's made him, the smile that overtakes him. The emotional fragility that had clung to Gene like a second skin shatters into dust, puffs away on an unseen breeze. 'Even if you're a brute sometimes.'

'Oi, you're the one who just said you liked that sort of thing.' With a grin, Gene ducks his head down and nips at Sam's shoulder, squeezes him more tightly. 'Always happy to give it to you, too – you know that, right?'

'And I mostly don't mind taking it – just, for variety's sake, let's mix it up sometimes. So you can be the one who's sore in the morning.'

'Oi, who ever said I'd be sore?' Gene shifts against him, then winces. 'Well, fair point – you're doing all the running about tomorrow.'

'Like always then, eh?'

Gene glowers at him, shakes him against the bed, which makes them both bounce, and they both end up laughing. 'Shut up,' Gene says, when he can speak again, when his cheeks aren't quite so red. Sam knows he's been given something, and he knows it can't be taken back. Now, when he looks at Gene, and sees him glowing, at least he thinks he understands _why_. Gene wants this to matter, and even if he doesn't always _physically_ look touched by the sex – though, Sam can admit to himself, rather smugly too, he certainly looks shagged out _today_ – it goes so much deeper than that.

Sam grins right back at him, knows he's asking for it – when isn't he asking for it? Maybe this means the codes will have to change, maybe they can work out a signal that means 'Sam gets to do the buggering tonight, Gene's looking forward to being happily buggered'. Maybe there are other lines to this thing that is _them_ , that they'll both get to happily trip over together. Life experience, building a future together – oh yeah, he's definitely gone off the deep end.

But for now, all he can do is open his mouth and say: 'Make me.'

With a low growl and an intense glint in his eyes, Gene rolls him over, and does.


End file.
